


Strangeness and Charm

by Engineer104



Series: Watered Plants and Other Stories [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bodyguard Romance, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Pining, Prompt Fill, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-01-27 04:23:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 109
Words: 210,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12573632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: Many realities, similar outcomesOr:  a collection of prompt fills cross-posted from tumblr





	1. Be Careful

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is more or less a standalone and tags will be added every time i update the fic. Word count will range from about 800 to 5000 words per chapter. All relevant warnings will be posted in the notes before each chapter
> 
> some of these are probably at least a month old by the time i'm posting them. They're all prompt fills that i originally posted on tumblr that I'm cross-posting to ao3 for ease of access (for myself and for others who are interested). and for now, it's all plance!!
> 
> Fic title is a Florence + the Machine song (as usual when i can't think of a title on my own)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt fill: Ways to say "I love you" --> "be careful"
> 
> Canon divergent as of season 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165787625168/98-and-99-for-plance-please)

Nothing feels  _right_  to Pidge.

Of course, nothing has felt right since the Kerberos mission, since she lost both father and brother at once. But lately, nothing feels even less right than usual, which is saying something.

First, Pidge is launched into space without warning, suffering the same fate as her missing family - at least from her mother’s perspective. Then she’s enlisted in a universe-spanning war - a war that’s lasted ten thousand years - against her will.

So Pidge hopes that this time her team can forgive her for leaving. She’ll come back, she tells herself, and it won’t be alone. But this time, she’ll be smarter about it.

Pidge packs a bag, stuffed with dehydrated military rations and pouches of water and emergency medical supplies and that fancy Altean traveling soap that makes hygiene easier to maintain without a real bathroom. Her computer is tucked in carefully, wrapped with a spare change of clothes for cushioning.

She waits until evening, when the only ones she has to dodge are the insomniacs like Shiro and Allura. The mice she thinks she can handle with the simple distraction of food goo ‘accidentally’ spilled on the floor. She doesn’t bother shutting down the security cameras, though; by the time Coran winds through the footage, she’ll already be gone.

Quietly, Pidge slides open her bedroom door. She’s wearing her armor, bag slung over her shoulder. Her footsteps sound too loud to her own ears, echoing eerily through the empty hallways. Never before has the Castle felt so tense, so haunted, not even when the AI of Allura’s father went haywire.

Pidge considers all the variables as she treads to the Green Lion’s hangar. If Hunk is awake, he’ll be in the kitchen, trying to bake his anxiety into a pie. Allura would either be pacing the halls around her room or into the bridge, where she and Coran might parse records or discuss Voltron’s next plan of attack - or diplomacy. Keith, the most predictable, would lock himself on the training deck. Shiro, perhaps the  _least_  predictable, could be doing anything from wandering the halls to meditating quietly in his bedroom. And Lance, well, he won’t be a problem, Pidge tells herself; Lance takes the importance of at least six hours of sleep per night to heart more than anyone else.

The Green Lion purrs at her when she walks into the hangar on silent feet. Pidge smiles as her presence envelops her mind in a warm, comforting blanket, like sunshine in the spring. She glances once more behind her, making sure she wasn’t followed, by human or mouse or alien. She exhales and faces her Lion, who happily lowers her jaw.

“Pidge.”

Pidge jumps, dropping her bag in surprise. She reflexively summons her bayard and spins towards the voice, but relaxes when she sees it’s only Lance, of all people, approaching her from behind the Green Lion’s massive paw.

He looks exhausted, eyelids drooping and skin wan. His hair is ruffled from sleep, and he’s still dressed, though without his jacket for once.

“What’re you doing here?” Pidge demands, lowering her bayard.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Lance crosses his arms, peering down at her with the slightest hint of a smile. But it disappears quickly. “You’re going after your brother now, aren’t you?”

Pidge blinks. “How many nights have you slept here?” Wouldn’t she have noticed, if he  _was_  sleeping in her Lion’s hangar? She’s pulled many an all-nighter working here.

Lance chuckles, fingers running through his hair. “Just answer the question, Pidge.”

Pidge grabs her bag off the floor and admits, “Yes. I know where he is now, unlike last time, so  _yes_.”

She half-expects him to argue, to shout her down like Keith did last time she almost left, and her chest clenches with shame at the thought.

Instead, she sees something like understanding - like sympathy - in his blue eyes, and he smiles mournfully. “Okay,” he says. “Just…” He sighs, and before she can say anything else, he wraps her into a hug.

Pidge shivers when she feels his warm breath on her cheek.

“Be careful, Pidge,” he says, voice right by her ear.

“I will be,” she promises, returning his embrace. “I’ll come back, and I’ll bring my brother back with me.”

Lance steps away from her, and glances at her Lion. “You keep her safe, alright?” he says.

To her amazement, Green growls an affirmation, her presence in Pidge’s head tinged with affection and protectiveness.

Without another word, Pidge enters the Lion, but not without looking back over her shoulder at Lance, who again stands facing her with crossed arms. He’s not smiling, exactly, but there’s still something warm in his gaze as he looks at her.

There’s worry there too, she thinks.

“I’ll be fine,” Pidge tells them, though by now she sits in the pilot’s chair, and only Green can hear her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may be old, but i will always welcome comments :)


	2. Take a Deep Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: ways to say "I love you" --> "Take a deep breath"
> 
> Canon-verse, suspense/angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165787625168/98-and-99-for-plance-please) (along with the previous chapter)
> 
> **warning** for mentions of drowning

Panic tastes like iron, or copper, or zinc. Panic tastes like a bitten tongue, warm blood filling her mouth, a scream swallowed before it can be realized, when Pidge sees the large crack rending the visor on Lance’s helmet.

The chamber still steadily fills with water from the drains near the ceiling, and Pidge still curses herself for allowing them to be trapped underground in a room near to flooding. And the worst part is that Pidge knows that if she opens the chamber’s only door, a torrent will engulf them, and they’ll be swept under a current that much faster.

Unlike Pidge, Lance looks calm, despite the crack in his helmet. In fact, she won’t at all be surprised if he tries to make a joke of this, not while Pidge struggles to think of an option that isn’t  _drown when our life support runs out_.

The water is already level with Pidge’s waist, or mid-thigh for Lance, and it gets higher with every tic she fights back her panic.

“I’ve always wanted to swim with the fishes,” Lance observes.

Pidge could strangle him before he drowns. “Now isn’t the time for gallows humor, Lance,” she says testily, eyes scanning the walls for any sign of a way out.

“Ah, another way to die of asphyxiation,” says Lance, elbowing her in the side.

“And if you don’t  _stop_ , you’ll suffer another,” Pidge promises, though without any bite.

Lance only shrugs, but he wanders around the small room, sloshing water around with every step. Pidge can’t tell what he’s doing, but she’s so focused on the ceiling that she hardly cares.

“ _Pidge!_ ”

She spins around to face Lance, and from the bemusement on his face and the way he shouted her name, she suspects he might’ve tried to get her attention more than once. “What?” she says.

“I think I found our way out,” Lance says. He bends down and reaches under the surface for something in the wall. “I found a current,” he explains, “a way the water’s getting out. Still flowing in faster than it’s flowing out though…” He scowls, tongue poking out in concentration.

Pidge might think he looks cute like that, if she wasn’t too busy trying not to panic. But his words fill her with hope, and she joins him, ignoring that the water is now just above her navel.

“There’s a grate,” says Lance. “You need to cut it open with your bayard or something.”

Pidge nods and summons her bayard, activating it into the electrified grapple. She wills it into the shape of a blade instead, and after making sure her helmet is sealed, she dunks her head underwater.

It takes a few tics to adjust to the distortion of light underwater, the way everything looks bigger and closer and  _blurrier_  suddenly, but she sees the grate Lance mentioned, a wide metal frame that  _maybe_  both of them can fit through if they swim through one at a time.

But Lance’s visor is still  _cracked_.

Pidge shakes that from her mind.  _One problem at a time._  She uses her bayard to slice the grate’s cover away in four smooth cuts, then pries it out. She surfaces and tosses the grate away to the other end of the room.

“Okay,” she tells Lance, dismissing her bayard. “But…”

“My helmet?” Lance guesses, tapping the visor. Now, he finally starts to look worried.

At least until he jokes, “Good thing I have the lung capacity of a dolphin.”

Pidge, unimpressed, scowls at him. “Swap helmets with me,” she suggests, reaching for the bottom of hers.

“What? No way!” Lance says, waving his hands. “Absolutely quiznaking  _not_.”

“Why not?” Pidge demands.

“Hello?” Lance says, gesturing to himself. “Guardian Spirit of  _Water_  here!”

“That’s the Blue Lion, you idiot!” Pidge retorts. She takes off her helmet and shoves it at his chest.

He pushes it back. “I have bigger lungs than you!”

“Put it on.”

“No.”

They play reverse keep-away with her helmet for another few precious tics, at which point the water level is at Pidge’s chest.

“Look, we don’t have time for this,” Lance says, shoving her helmet back at her. “So I’ll just…it’ll be fine.”

“How do you know?” Pidge asks, glaring at him, though she doesn’t push the helmet back at him.

Lance knocks on the side of his helmet. “I can barely feel a leak of air.”

Pidge stares at him, completely bewildered and trying  _very_  hard not to panic. “Lance, the water in there is rushing at a higher pressure than the air in this room!” She tosses her hands up, exasperated. “Your visor is compromised, so you  _really_  think it’ll be able to withstand–”

“Yes,” Lance says, voice firm and brooking no disagreement. “And if it doesn’t, then I’m sure you’ll have something to say to the princess when you get back.”

They exchange a glance, Pidge worried and Lance obstinate in his decision.

“This isn’t  _funny_ ,” says Pidge, reaching up to rub her face.

“I know,” Lance agrees. He takes her helmet from her arms, and for one relieved, heart-stopping moment, she thinks he’s about to take off his and put hers on…

…except he carefully arranges it on her head instead.

“Take a deep breath,” he says, a hint of teasing in his strained voice.

“I should be the one telling you that,” Pidge grumbles.

Grumbling is all she has, she thinks.

“You go first,” Lance says, “so I don’t block your way in case I–”

“That won’t happen,” Pidge insists.

“You’re right,” he says, smiling. “You’re always right.”


	3. Let Me Fix It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt fill: ways to say "I love you" --> "Come here, let me fix it"
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165822418858/could-you-do-4-and-7-for-plance-its-my-favorite)

Pidge decided to let her hair grow out.

There was no real reason not to. Allura and Keith both did just fine with long hair, and, well, she missed it. And now that Matt was safe - relatively - again, her face in the mirror was no longer a reminder she needed for her mission.

But she’d forgotten how difficult long hair could be.

The loose strands free of a bun or ponytail fell in her face, aggravating her when she was focusing on something. She used up more shampoo in the shower, and then it took longer to dry. And then–

Well, and then there was Lance.

Lance, who could be so sweet one minute and so annoying the next. Lance, who tried his best to understand her when she used ‘technobabble’ but wasn’t too self-conscious to hide his frustration with it. Lance, who teased her…then disappeared to flirt with any vaguely humanoid girl that caught his eye.

Lance who would stare at her with a look she couldn’t read ever since her hair was long enough to tie up.

“Finally believe I’m a girl?” she’d quipped the first time, crossing her arms.

Lance averted his eyes, and she thought she saw a flush on his cheeks. “No,” he said.

“He just thinks you’re pretty, Pidge,” Allura teased, her elbows on the table. “And he’s right! Your hair looks beautiful like that!”

Pidge blushed, eyeing him, while Lance hid his face in his hand. “Thank you, Princess,” she said, though even to her own ears she sounded preoccupied.

Now, before a party, she struggled to tame her hair into something a little  _nicer_  than a standard up-do. Using clips and ties borrowed from the princess, she tried pinning her hair up in several different ways before growing frustrated with the undesired effect and picking everything out.

She was about to give up and just tie her hair up into a bun when she heard a soft knock from her door.

“What?” she called.

“Pidge?” Lance replied. “You alright? You’re taking longer than usual.”

“I’m fine,” Pidge reassured him, hair bunched into her fist as she looped a hair tie around it. Satisfied enough, she walked to her door and opened it.

Lance leaned against the wall on the other side, but he stood up straight when he spotted her. Then he smiled. “You don’t want to do anything with your hair?” he wondered.

Pidge put a hand to her head. “What’s wrong with it?” she demanded, defensive.

“Nothing,” he said, “but you could try something different?”

Before Pidge could comment on his suggestion, he walked past her into her room without invitation. “Come here,” he called from the bathroom. “Let me fix it.”

Pidge sighed but followed him.

He stepped back so she could stand between him and the sink. His fingers ran through her hair, making her shiver, and tugged out the tie. “Your hair is so soft,” he observed, half to himself.

Pidge stared at their reflections in the mirror, her eyes flicking to where he teased knots from her hair with a comb and parted it at the side. The tip of his tongue stuck out of his mouth as he concentrated, and she smiled at the sight.

Within minutes, Lance French braided her hair on two different sides so that they formed a sort of crown. He used a pin to attach the two ends together where they met in the middle, and then he used a pen to gently curl the hair that was still loose.

“I mean, this would look a lot better if I had a curling iron,” Lance said, “but–”

Pidge turned and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Thank you,” she said, voice muffled.

He rested his hands on her back. “It’s nothing,” he said. “My sister taught me how to style her hair so that she’d have someone else to do it for her.”

Pidge laughed. “I made Matt learn to braid for that too,” she said. She looked up at him, grinning, then raised herself up on her toes to kiss his cheek. And after reconsidering, she kissed the corner of his mouth as well.

He kissed her back, quickly and eagerly, his hands coming up to cup her face and tilt her head back. Warmth spread throughout her body, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

They stood like that for more time than Pidge had the mental capacity to keep track of, her mind preoccupied with kissing Lance, while she leaned against the bathroom counter and he leaned into her.

“Really?” Hunk interrupted, walking up to the bathroom doorway. Pidge and Lance separated, both of them blushing furiously. “You couldn’t at least close the door?”

“Why are we standing around?” Lance asked, looking between Pidge and Hunk rather than answering the question. “There’s a party to get to.” He tried to smooth down his hair - hair that stuck up in all directions thanks to Pidge running her fingers through it.

“Come here,” Pidge said with a grin. She tugged Lance down by his collar so that he was at her level, and he came easily, smiling despite the redness in his face. “Let me fix it.”


	4. A Dream about You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt fill: ways to say "I love you" --> "I dreamed about you last night"
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165822418858/could-you-do-4-and-7-for-plance-its-my-favorite) (along with the previous chapter)

Sometimes while Pidge worked in the Green Lion’s hangar, Lance visited. He brought food if she skipped lunch, or a blanket as a pointed scolding when it was late.

This time, he came in the morning, bearing news rather than food or bedding. He lay on the floor beside her desk, where she could see his face, using his jacket as a pillow.

She didn’t greet him, since at this point she was accustomed to him greeting her as he entered the hangar, sometimes with a hand on the shoulder along with a word.

She glanced up from the code she was busy debugging, frowning in confusion. “Lance?” she said. “Are you alright?”

“Perfect,” he said, tone far away as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Are you…sure?” Pidge pressed.

This time Lance stuck up his hand in a thumbs-up.

Pidge wasn’t reassured. This contemplative silence was not like Lance at all. But she refocused on her work, determined to get Voltron the information they needed.

At least until Lance spoke:

“I dreamed about you last night.”

The comment, made so idly, awoke feelings in Pidge that she thought she’d succeeded in burying. She flushed, freezing with her hand over the computer touch pad. Slowly, she rested her hands in her lap and spun around in the chair so she better faced Lance.

“Was I kicking you out of my Lion’s hangar?” Pidge wondered, leaning forwards. “Because if you don’t stop bothering me and tell me what’s bothering  _you_ , I can and will make that dream come true.”

Lance finally grinned at her. “No, but there  _was_  something like poetry there.”

Pidge blinked. “What?”

Lance sat up, crossing his legs and looking straight at her. “You rhymed.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Pidge said, laughing.

Lance hummed, staring down at his hands.

Pidge sighed and slid from her chair to the floor until she sat across from Lance, their knees almost touching. “Did you really dream about me, or are you just saying that?”

“Why would I just be saying that?” Lance asked, eyeing her.

She shrugged. “You tell me,” she said. “It’s a weird thing to say whether it’s true or not.” She cocked her head at him. “I didn’t…die, did I?”

Lance grimaced. “No, it was nothing bad.”

“Then why’s it bothering you?” Pidge said, as confused as she was when he walked in. “It was just a dream.”

“Well, don’t you remember the Ornithians?”

“The bird people?” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “Sure?”

“They think that dreams have meaning,” Lance reminded her.

“Yeah, but so do a lot of cultures on Earth, Lance.” Pidge, starting to get frustrated, grabbed his hand with both of hers. “And if it was nothing bad, then what could it hurt to tell me?”

Lance held her eyes for a tic or more, long enough for heat to claw up Pidge’s neck. Then, he inhaled sharply, as if bracing himself for something, and leaned towards her and kissed her.

Pidge froze at first, surprised by the sudden rush of warmth that filled her chest. But before she could return the kiss - and oh, she  _wanted_  to - Lance sat back. He smiled sheepishly,  _cautiously_  at her, his cheeks flushed.

“That’s…what happened in my dream,” Lance admitted.

Full of a strange sort of daring, Pidge said, “Show me what happened next.”

And he did.


	5. Not Just Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "We're not just friends, and you fucking know it."
> 
> Canon-verse, angst with a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165998677703/christinajstrife-asked-for-plance-with-prompt-1)
> 
>  **warning** for non-graphic mentions of torture

_"We're just friends,"_  Lance said, something nervous in his laughter. Not that you would've known it from the way he held himself confidently, with his head up and eyes bright, despite the restraints keeping his arms and legs in place, despite the  _other_  voice calling down to him, despite the monster - something that incites the most visceral of fear within her - stalking ever closer--

Pidge pauses the playback before it goes any further. She's sick to her stomach - she has the utmost sympathy for Hunk - and can't bear to watch more, never could, and hates herself for watching this much.

 _Why do we still have this?_  she wonders not for the first time.

She turns off the video player, and the lights in her bedroom turn on automatically in response. She never spent much time here, not until recently when she wanted more privacy than she got in her usual haunts, places that everyone else can find her even when she doesn't want to be found.

Not that hiding ever stops Lance from trying.

Pidge sighs and lies back in bed, the lights flickering off when she does, wondering why that video in particular bothers her so much, beyond just the idea of Lance being tortured by his captors. And at this point in the fight, they've  _all_  served time as prisoners of the Galra and other hostile aliens, so Lance is scarcely unique.

She turns onto her side, looking for a more comfortable position. She holds her pillow close like she used to clutch a stuffed animal when she was younger, a habit she forced herself to break before attending the Garrison lest she end up with a roommate that would tease her relentlessly.

How insignificant that problem seems now.

_"We're just friends."_

Pidge hates the way those words in particular ring in her head.  _Just_  friends? And what the fuck is  _wrong_  with being  _just friends_? 'Friends' is a perfectly good designation for her and Lance's relationship, thank you very much.

 _You've wanted something else from him for a while now though,_  whispers a voice that Pidge likes to call her  _pre-Kerberos voice_.

Growling, Pidge jerks upright and swings her legs over the edge of her bed. Usually when she's in a mood like this - too restless to sleep, too wired to focus on a task needing doing - she paces the Castle's winding hallways, trying to lose herself in their monotony.

She grabs her robe and stuffs her feet into the Green Lion slippers before venturing outside her room. The hall is as quiet as usual this time of night, the regular insomniacs likely far away from their residential quarters.

Pidge walks and tries not to think, though asking her not to think is like asking her not to breathe. Her mind wanders as much as she does, worry about Matt throwing himself into danger with his rebels, worry about her mother and how she's coping without her children and husband back on Earth, worry about Keith and his ongoing mission, worry about Lance and--

Pidge halts when she realizes her feet have carried her to the observation deck, where a familiar figure sits in front of the wide window. She sighs and trudges inside; it's been a long time since she could resist the temptation of his company.

"Can't sleep?" Lance asks as she plops down beside him, pulling her knees up and wrapping her arms around her legs.

Pidge shakes her head and glances sideways at him, meeting his blue eyes. "You too?"

Lance smiles at her. "Please, Pidge, have you ever known me to miss out on a chance to catch up on beauty sleep?"

Pidge snorts but allows herself a smile. She inches closer to him, close enough that, if she wants to, she can rest her head on his shoulder.

(She wants to, but she doesn't. At least not yet.)

They sit in silence for a little while, watching a patchwork of stars that Pidge forcibly familiarized herself with since getting shot into space. She catches sight of a meteor shower in one quadrant, thick and fast with a single streak of light shooting through space every few tics, and grins.

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" she asks Lance, keeping her voice quiet.

"Shooting stars?" Lance says. "Yep. Pretty neat, huh?"

"The neatest," Pidge agrees, transfixed.

"How long do you think it'll go for?" Lance wonders.

Pidge turns her head slightly to find him looking at her. "Who knows?" she says, shrugging. "The meteor showers we could view on Earth can be thousands of years old, like the Perseids."

"You nerd," Lance teases, nudging her arm. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant how long until we're out of sight?"

She hums, thinking. "Don't know," she admits. "Guess it'll depend if Allura wants to take us through a wormhole in the morning."

"Doubt it," says Lance. "Not before Keith gets back."

"Yeah," Pidge says. She glances at him again, noting the worry on his face.

 _"We're just friends,"_  he said, about  _her_.

"What's wrong with being friends?" Pidge asks, the words out of her mouth before she can reconsider.

"Huh?" Lance turns his head more towards her, confusion in his eyes.

"I mean, so what if we're 'just friends'?" Pidge says as if he hadn't acknowledged her first question.

"Pidge, I have no idea what you're talking about," Lance says carefully.

Pidge faces him more fully, her attention diverted from the meteor shower. "I don't understand why it makes a difference if we're friends or not!" she says.

Lance raises an eyebrow at her. "I'm still confused, and you're not even speaking in binary."

"Shut up," Pidge retorts tersely. She crosses her arms. "Okay, how do I explain this? Oh!" She grins, despite the seriousness of the conversation. "In superhero comics, the superhero always has a secret identity to protect those they're close to, right?"

"Uh...right."

"But the villain still ends up kidnapping their  _love interest_  anyway!" Pidge leans towards him. "Because they think that a boyfriend or girlfriend or spouse is more important to them than someone's who's  _just a friend_. Why?"

"Dunno," Lance says, scratching his ear awkwardly. He doesn't lean away, doesn't at all seem deterred by Pidge's intensity despite the bizarre turn in their conversation.

She tries not to let that go to her head.

"Lance," Pidge says carefully. She looks at the floor between them, at his hands resting on his knees. "Why would someone threaten  _me_  to hurt  _you_?"

Silence, then:

"Aw, Pidge," Lance says, that hated edge of nervous laughter in his voice, "are you calling me a superhero?"

"That's not what this is about and you know it." She finally looks up at him again.

He looks right back, but for some reason he looks like a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and cheeks hinting at red despite the dim lighting on the observation deck, a smile frozen on his face.

"Pidge--"

"We're not just friends," she says, grabbing him by the collar to emphasize her point, "and you fucking know it."

Lance stares at Pidge, his eyes softening in a way that makes her breath catch. "You're right."

He kisses her.

Pidge kisses him back without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck and climbing into his lap. One of his hands cradles her cheek, and the other rests on her waist; both impart heat into her skin through her clothes, and she sighs.

They part, both breathless, their foreheads touching, and for once Pidge is the one looking down.

Lance smiles at her. "I love you, Pidge," he says.

Pidge smiles back and lets her pre-Kerberos voice win, for once. "Call me Katie."

"All right...Katie."

Pidge pulls him into another kiss.


	6. Urgent Cuddling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "You come to my room and wake me up at four AM, to cuddle?"
> 
> Canon-verse, pure fluff (prepare for cavities)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166019145663/can-i-send-two-prompts-8-34-pidgance)

Honestly, Pidge should’ve expected this. She should’ve known something like this would happen, and prepared for it, though that didn’t stop her from sighing in resignation when she opened the door to see Lance standing on the other side.

“Explain it to me again,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “You come to my room and wake me up at four AM, to  _cuddle_?”

Lance grinned sheepishly at her, leaning against the door frame, any embarrassment he felt entirely belied by his relaxed pose. His eyes were just as tired-looking as hers, but she could tell he hadn’t just woken up.

“Come on, Pidge,” he said, standing up straight. “You know you want to.”

Pidge fought a smile. “Fine,” she said, pretending to be put out. She stepped away from the door and waved him into her room. “But don’t be upset when I push you off the bed.”

“If that happens, I’m taking you with me,” Lance promised, smirking. His back was to Pidge, so he didn’t catch sight of her unreasonable blush.

Pidge watched him settle into her bed, under the covers. He lay back, looking comfortable, his head pillowed on his arm. When he glanced at her, he cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her. “Pidge, how are we supposed to cuddle if you don’t join me?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes and climbed in after him. Not quite sure where to put her hands, or even how to arrange her body, she lay on her side, facing him, with her head on the pillow, his profile in perfect view.

He smiled down at her and turned towards her. “You’re so bad at this,” he complained.

“I’m too tired to think it through properly,” she quipped. And yawned.

Lance chuckled. “Okay, come here.” He rested a hand on her hip, and she slid towards him until their noses brushed, her knees touching his legs.

Pidge shivered at the feeling of his breath on her cheek. “I don’t think you know what you’re doing either,” she pointed out, voice low.

“And why’s that?”

“I’m pretty sure cuddling involves hugging.”

In response, Lance wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her into him until their chests pressed together. She wound her own arms around his waist and buried her face into his shoulder. Their legs tangled so that one of her ankles was between his knees.

“And how’s that, genius?” Lance asked, voice right next to her ear.

“My right arm is going to be numb soon,” Pidge said.

“Good thing you’re left-handed,” he reminded her.

Pidge snorted, reaching up with her unpinned left hand to run her fingers through his soft hair. “Yeah, what a relief.”

Lance hummed contentedly. He pressed his nose against the shell of her ear, tickling her, though not enough that she shifted. His hand traveled up and down her back.

Pidge felt unreasonably warm, warm with heat and warm with the sort of delirious happiness that came with being close to Lance. She slipped her other hand up Lance’s shirt and rested it against his back.

He flinched, then shook with laughter. “Pidge!” he said. “Your hand’s cold!”

“Then warm it up for me,” she retorted, her face flushing.

He pulled back, far enough that he could look her in the eye but not enough that he withdrew from her arms. His lips quirked up into a lazy smile.

“What?” Pidge said, confused.

“Nothing,” said Lance, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose. “I’m just happier than I’ve been in a while.”

“Oh.” She retaliated with a quick brush of her lips against his. “Me too.”


	7. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "Why are you so jealous?"
> 
> Canon-verse, mild crack and light angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166019145663/can-i-send-two-prompts-8-34-pidgance) (along with the previous chapter)

Lance didn’t understand Pidge, and not just when she slipped into technical jargon.

Lance didn’t understand why Pidge could be excited one minute, then scowl at him the next, smacking him with a robotic arm. He didn’t understand why she could be perfectly friendly to him one minute, then poke fun at him mercilessly the next. He didn’t understand why she could tease Hunk about Shay, but when he expressed his interest in Allura, she made a face of profound irritation and averted her eyes from him.

No, he didn’t understand Pidge at all.

At least, until Lance… _thought_  about it. And what he realized when he analyzed every single time Pidge showed her displeasure towards him didn’t make sense, not with what he understood - or thought he understood - about her. So, in true scientific spirit - she would be so proud of him! - he decided to test his hypothesis at a post-meeting mixer.

After making sure Pidge was within earshot, Lance leaned against the wall beside an unmasked female Blade and drawled, “So…you come here often?”

The Blade stared at him, a bushy eyebrow raised. “No,” she deadpanned.

Well, the Blade wasn’t attractive in any… _human_  sort of way, more muscular than curvy, and furless for the most part (probably another part-Galra like Keith). Plus, she was at least a foot taller than him.

“Is it just me, or are you the most interesting person at this party?” Lance tried again, smiling in his most disarming fashion.

Then, to his surprise, she laughed. “Oh, I see,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder and making him lurch with the force.

“What? What do you see?” Lance demanded, taken off guard.

“You’re trying to make the small green one jealous,” she said, flashing her pointy canines in a smile.

“Yes, that’s exact–wait,  _what_?” Lance sputtered, shocked into standing up straight.

“Don’t worry, Blue Paladin,” said the Galra woman with a terrifying grin. “I can help.”

“What? No–”

Before he could protest, the Blade swept him into her arms, carrying him bridal style, and Lance wondered if he’d accidentally chosen to flirt with the one Galra that was more over-the-top than  _he_  was. He couldn’t help flushing when those nearby turned towards them, curious about the display.

It only got worse when she kissed him.

It was brief, only meant to garner the attention of those close, and her mouth had only touched the corner of his. But he still felt like his heart had dropped out of his stomach as she set him back on his feet, grinning.

“A successful plan,” she said gleefully, and walked away.

“What?” Lance said yet again, stunned. He then turned back to the party, his eyes searching out Pidge on reflex.

She was scowling at him, like he’d expected, but what he didn’t expect was the way it made his insides twist with anxiety, like she caught him cheating on a test.

 _Or on her,_  his mind supplied unhelpfully.

Pidge turned away from him the minute their eyes met, her face relaxing as she continued whatever conversation she’d been having with another Blade.

At least he’d walk away from this incident without a bruise on his arm.

Probably.

* * *

Determined to prove his hypothesis - really, if she wasn’t angry he would brag to Pidge about how he planned an experiment - he cornered Pidge after the party.

“What?” she asked, tone flat, once they were face to face.

“Why are you so jealous?” he demanded.

Pidge froze, eyes wide. “I’m not–”

“Nope, no way, don’t buy it,” he interrupted, crossing his arms and glaring down at her.

Pidge glared right back. “Well, if you need me to explain it to you,” she said, “then I’m not interested.” She stepped around him, and as Lance watched her go, he wondered if he could’ve possibly handled that better.


	8. Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "Just please be my best friend right now, not the guy I just confessed my love to."
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and emotional hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166034075008/14-for-plance)
> 
>  **warning** for referenced [minor] character death

****There were any number of things Pidge should have been doing in that moment:  comforting Green while she regenerated her damaged armor, working on updating the Castle’s translators with English words for Altean tech, helping Hunk make dinner or Coran clean, even training with the gladiators.

But instead she stood outside the Castle, dressed only in shorts and her thin green sweater, and letting the rain - real and cold  _water_ , for once - soak into her hair and clothes.

The sky was a gloomy gray, with wisps of white cloud drifting beneath thicker, darker thunderheads. The rain fell fast and heavy, flashes of distant lightning against a hidden horizon, an eerie echo of her mood.

Sad.  _Angry._  At herself and at the universe.

Pidge shivered in the cold, clutching herself, fingernails digging into her arms, mind carefully blank except for one solid memory:

 _Pidge held her electrified bayard to the throat of the whimpering Galra guard. “You’re lying!” she accused. “You have to be_ lying _!”_

_“Pidge,” Lance said, a hand resting on her shoulder and trying to pull her away from the subdued guard._

_“Tell me where my father is!” Pidge demanded, pressing her bayard into his neck enough to shock him._

_He shrieked, and when Pidge pulled the weapon away, he repeated, “He’s dead. The Earth man is dead. I_ told _you–”_

_“You–”_

_“Okay, that’s enough,” Lance said, voice too calm. He wrapped his arms around her, but not in an embrace. One strong arm crossed over her chest, holding her against his and locking her arms in place, while the other reached for her bayard._

_She let him take it without fighting, but she couldn’t stop herself from glaring at the guard, who lay on the ground, clutching his bleeding leg. Angry, frustrated tears trailed warm tracks down her cheeks, but Pidge barely noticed, one thought reverberating painfully in her head._

_She missed him by quintants, a matter of only a few_ days _._

_As Lance dragged her away so they could rejoin the others, Pidge finally broke down and sobbed._

Pidge didn’t cry now, the only water on her face from the rain, but that only made her feel worse, guilt twisting in her gut. How would she face Matt?

And Lance? What did  _he_  think of her, the way she nearly killed an injured, defenseless guard just for telling her the truth?

A part of Pidge wished Shiro was with her when she found out; Shiro loved her father almost as much as she did. But no, that wouldn’t have changed the outcome, at least not for the better. Sam Holt would still be dead, and his children - biological or otherwise - would still mourn him.

Pidge squatted, ignoring the way the mud sucked at the soles of her shoes, balancing her arms on her legs. She imagined her mother, sitting alone in the kitchen with a steaming mug of tea at her elbow, maybe trying to read the latest issue of  _National Geographic_. Sad, and lonely, even more than Pidge must be now.

Pidge didn’t have to be lonely. She could stand up and return to the Castle now, return to warmth and seek a comforting hug from any one of its occupants. But no, at that moment, she just wanted her mother.

Or Lance, even. She could settle for Lance, who’d seen her at her worst.

Unbidden, she smiled at the thought of Lance, warm despite the rain. She buried her face in her arms, not caring about the trickling of water down her neck.

“I had so much to tell you, Dad,” Pidge said. “About how much I missed you and Matt, about Voltron and my friends… God, even about Lance.” She laughed humorlessly, lifting her head to rub her eyes. “Quiznak, you would’ve hated me telling you that I’m in love with him.”

“Wait, what?”

Pidge stood up, almost falling in her shock at hearing the familiar voice and spinning around. She hadn’t heard Lance approach, probably because the soft ground and the sound of rain masked his footsteps. And now that she saw him, she decided she didn’t want to see him after all.

He looked soaked already, his jacket hanging sodden around his frame, but he had his hood down so that rain dripped down his face. And his eyes were wide with shock.

“Pidge–”

She could deny he heard her say anything about him, could tell him he’d interrupted a private conversation - with a  _ghost_  - and that for all  _he_  knew she’d been talking about someone else. But Lance was neither stupid nor heartless, and she owed it to him - who was with her when she discovered her father  _died_  before she could rescue him - to tell the truth.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

“I don’t–” Pidge cut herself off, inhaling shakily. “Lance, I–I can’t handle this right now, so just please be my best friend, not the guy I just confessed my love to.”

“Okay,” Lance said without hesitation. He smiled cautiously at her, and held up a poncho. “Then if you love me, you’ll put this on.”

Pidge wiped unshed tears from her eyes and huffed out a laugh, accepting the poncho. “Thank you,” she said.

As she draped the poncho over herself - without pointing out that it was ineffectual by now, as soaked to the bone as she felt - he said, “I know you’ve had a tough last few days - which is an understatement - so I’m here for you, if you ever need to talk, or just to cry.”

Pidge sniffled. “Can I–can I have a hug?” she asked.

“No,” Lance said, sarcastic, shaking his head even as he approached and wrapped his arms securely around her, his body warming her and providing far more shelter from the rain than the flimsy poncho did.


	9. Past to Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompts: "You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!"/ "What if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids."
> 
> Vaguely 'medieval' AU, angst with a happy(ish) ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166065537968/you-cant-keep-pretending-it-didnt-happen-cause)

Lance was a country boy at heart, but there was something about Arus City that made excitement thrill through his blood every time he returned.

It wasn’t home, but it served as his playground.

Now he loitered outside a crowded inn, leaning against the building while customers milled out during the morning rush, hefting luggage and patting their stomachs contentedly after a decent breakfast. The inn was reputable, in a section of town devoted to merchants and wealthy craftsmen:  not the richest quarter, but close.

Hunk mingled with those leaving as he returned, nonchalantly walking past Lance, who joined him without hesitation. Together they made their way down the street, and Hunk said, “So there are rumors.”

“Right, there are always rumors,” Lance pointed out, “but are these ones any good?”

“Well, they agree with what you heard at the library,” Hunk said, clasping his hands in front of him like he always did when anxious. “Some mysterious benefactor sweeping through Arus, giving money to fund a public library, a public hospital, shelters for poor travelers…" 

“And it’s always the same person?”

“Yep,” Hunk agreed, nodding. “Tall, orange mustache.”

“You’d think a guy that distinctive would shave,” Lance quipped, elbowing Hunk in the ribs, “seeing as he wants to stay anonymous.”

“I know, right?” Hunk paused outside a street vendor’s stall, while Lance stood a few paces away. He bought two pastries - warm, with flaky dough and stuffed with strawberries - and resumed their walk after giving one to Lance.

“So…what do you think?” Lance asked, holding the pastry in one hand.

Hunk took the opportunity the food presented to consider, and said, “He’s a worthwhile mark.”

Lance smirked. “That’s what I thought.”

* * *

Two weeks later found Lance and Hunk sitting at a dining table long enough to seat five people on each side. Across from them sat their mark, Coran, a man of middle age, and his beautiful young ward, Lady Allura. Both of them were ex-patriots of distant Altea, rent apart by war and under the control of a conqueror.

Lance and Hunk posed as well-to-do merchants, dressed in tailored coats and trousers, shoes shining and impeccable, clean-shaven with hair trimmed neatly. “Thank you for the invitation, Sir Coran,” Lance said politely, one hand idly twitching a spoon aside. He froze a pleasant smile in place, knowing he’d likely have to compensate for any shows of anxiety Hunk made.

For now, he seemed all right, hands in his lap, smiling and looking about the decorated dining room with interest. His eyes even lit up when they fell on a fancy clock mounted to the wall.

“Oh, Lady Allura and I always love discussing future business,” said Coran. “But please, call me Coran. There’s no need to be so formal.”

“Of course, Coran,” Lance said. His smile turned genuine, the plan moving more smoothly than he’d expected. At least until he noticed the fifth set place beside Lady Allura. “Um, will someone else be joining us?” he wondered.

Hunk, attention recaptured, frowned worriedly. As far as they knew, no one else lived with Coran and Allura, except for a couple of servants that maintained the manor and the gardens. So why–

“Oh, I hope you don’t mind that I asked my personal clerk to sit in on all parts of the meeting,” Coran told them, waving a hand dismissively. “She’s quite clever and doesn’t miss a single detail.”

Lance glanced once more at the spot, then at Coran, until his eyes flicked to Allura, who looked straight at him as she raised a glass of wine to her lips. It seemed to pierce through him, and he felt sweat break out on his forehead though she hadn’t spoken a word beyond pleasantries.

“So…Allura,” Lance said cautiously, “how is your–”

“Lady Allura, if you please,” she corrected, tone deceptively polite. She set her glass down, clasping her hands in her lap.

“Of course, my L–”

This time the dining room’s door to the outer hall swung open to interrupt him, and a short woman in a white blouse and dark green skirt entered, glasses perched on her nose. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, looking to Coran and Lady Allura.

Lance and Hunk stood up in acknowledgement until she sat in her own seat, diagonally across from Lance. Something about her brown eyes and hair and round face was familiar, but he couldn’t quite say how.

“Lance, Hunk,” said Coran, gesturing towards the newcomer, “this is my clerk, Pidge Gunderson. Pidge, these are my two newest associates looking to partner in the funding of a primary school for poor youths.”

Pidge’s eyes swept over Hunk, who smiled at her, before landing on Lance. They widened almost imperceptibly, something like recognition in her eyes. “I…see,” she said, tone perfectly neutral.

Lance swallowed; this was going to be a long meal.

* * *

It hit him the minute they stepped back into Arus City proper.

“Hunk, we’re fucked,” Lance said, groaning and covering his face.

“What?” Hunk said, turning towards him. “Why?”

“I know Pidge,” he admitted. “Or, I  _knew_  her.” He glanced at Hunk, trying to get him to understand the gravity of the situation. “But she went by a different name before.  _Shit._ ”

They continued walking to their inn, past late-night traffic and lanterns being lit. “How?” Hunk asked, eyes curious.

“She was my partner before you,” Lance explained. He stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and slouched. “It’s been years since I saw her, I almost didn’t recognize her…” He trailed off and looked up at the darkening sky, where only the brightest of stars shone.

Hunk wondered, “Why didn’t she say anything, if she was your partner?”

“I don’t know,” Lance agonized.

They reached their inn and walked in, calling a greeting to the innkeeper and taking the stairs quickly: they needed to act fast, to adjust to the presence of someone that could ruin everything for them despite their plans.

“All right,” Hunk said once they’d taken off their coats and gotten more comfortable. He sat on his bed, untying the laces on his shoes, while Lance paced the little bit of floor space.

Honestly, if the situation wasn’t so dire, Lance would be impressed with how calm Hunk seemed.

“Explain everything to me,” Hunk said, tone brooking no nonsense. “How much are we fucked?”

* * *

Pidge entered the city under cover of night. The gates were closed due to the late hour, but she knew where she could find a narrow side entrance, and had coin to pay the toll.

Keith eyed her suspiciously when she knocked on the heavy wooden door, dressed in a hooded cloak despite the balmy air. “Not going to assassinate anyone, are you?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge snorted, shielding her eyes from the lantern he held up to her face. “If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You look…mad,” Keith observed.

“Would you put that down?” she said, grabbing his arm until he lowered the lantern. She blinked, eyes again adjusting to the dimness of the lights inside the city. “I just need to settle something,” she admitted, glancing towards the door. “So will you let me in?”

“Fine,” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “But you still have to pay.”

“Sure,” she agreed easily, reaching into her belt pouch for a copper coin. “That’s for you.” She placed it into his hand. “And I’ll have another for the way out.”

Keith retreated back inside, holding the door open for her. “So…what brings you to the city anyway?” he asked, actually sounding curious. He’d never inquired after that before.

“That’s for me to know,” she told him. She walked past him, saluting teasingly when he locked the door behind her, his back to her.

The door - well-hidden and well-guarded, though by men who were open to bribery - opened to the second-nicest quarter of the city, where it would be fairly busy at night, and well-lit, but not dangerous. Cloaked as she was, she would look out of place in the middle-class district she expected to find her targets.

It had been years since she last saw Lance, but she knew he couldn’t have changed much with respect to certain habits.

(One of which was that he still used his real name, the idiot. She hoped his new partner was more clever.)

Pidge entered a few inns, making inquiries after patrons. She described Lance and his associate - Hunk - in detail, passing each innkeeper a few coins to make them more likely to talk. After several rejections, Pidge finally had an affirmative, and after assuring her that she meant her guests no harm - that she was a friend that wished to pay them a visit since hearing they were in town - she led her upstairs to a room.

Pidge knocked on the door before the stunned innkeeper could, making sure to block the way onto the landing. “I’ll take it from here,” she told her, smiling at her.

The innkeeper blinked, then shrugged and left, likely deciding a woman of her stature and size couldn’t do much harm to two grown men.

That was her mistake.

“Who is it?” the other man - Hunk - called from inside.

“Housekeeping,” Pidge lied. Despite her experience with  _lying_ , she wrung her hands behind her back, palms sweaty, heartbeat erratic. With the exception of dinner that evening, it had been so long since she’d  _seen_  Lance that–

The door opened. “Oh,” Lance said, voice faint as he looked down at her.

Pidge smiled at him, knowing there was an edge to it. “Hello, Lance.”

“Speak of the devil,” he quipped, smiling nervously.

“Do you really think that poorly of me, Lance?” Pidge asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you let me in? Let’s catch up.”

He inhaled sharply, bracing himself, then nodded slowly. “We can do that,” he said, “can’t we, Hunk?”

“Uh, sure we can,” Hunk agreed from behind him.

Lance let her inside.

* * *

Pidge got to the point immediately.

“Drop this job,” she said.

Lance and Hunk gaped at her. “What?”

“You heard me,” said Pidge. “Coran and Allura are good people and they’ve both been through a lot. They don’t deserve to be robbed.”

“Kat–” At Pidge’s glare, Lance swallowed and tried again. “Pidge, you have no say over this.”

“Sure I do,” Pidge said, crossing her arms, “because if you don’t drop this, I  _will_  talk.” And from the stubborn set of her chin, he knew she meant it.

“And take you down with us?” Lance asked, mimicking her pose. “What proof will you show them? How will you explain how you know?”

Pidge leaned towards him, eyes narrowed. “Listen to me, Lance, and listen good. This. Isn’t.  _You._ ”

“Please, you and I did worse,” Lance said with a snort.

“To worse people!” she pointed out. She paced in front of the door, frustrated, and pointed an accusing finger at him. “When we worked together, we chose our targets more carefully than just ones that were  _rich_.”

Lance crossed his arms. “Well, you lost any right you had to tell me what to do when you left,” he said mutinously. “Something you can’t keep pretending didn’t happen, ‘cause guess what? It did.”

Pidge clenched her fists, obviously frustrated. “I had a damn good reason for leaving,” she retorted, “and you know it!”

“Uh, guys?” Hunk said, tentatively trying to break up the fight.

“Oh really?” Lance said, unable and unwilling to keep derision from his voice. “Because last I checked, all you left was a vague note nailed to my door.”

“My father died!” Pidge yelled. “My brother went missing! How are those not good reasons for wanting to do something  _different_  with my life?”

“Oh, they’re excellent reasons,” Lance agreed snidely, “but you could’ve done a bit more than said,  _I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore_.”

That stunned Pidge into silence, and for the first time since the argument blew up, she looked ashamed. “You’re right,” she said, surprising Lance into relaxing his glare. You deserved more than that.“

Hunk breathed a sigh of relief, but neither of them paid him any mind.

"I just…Lance.” Pidge covered her face with a hand, and for minute he thought she’d started crying - “ _God, please don’t cry, Katie”_  - until she laughed, though without any humor.

“So…did you ever find out what happened to your brother?” Lance wondered cautiously.

She sighed, shaking her head. “I have enough money saved up to leave Arus City in the spring,” she told him, looking up again. “Please, Lance, leave Coran and Allura out of your schemes. I owe them everything, including my mother’s welfare. So if you and Hunk keep at this, I promise I’m coming for you.”

And she meant it; Pidge never made threats idly, even if she sounded on the edge of tears while making them.

For the first time since she burst through the door, Lance glanced at Hunk, who frowned and shrugged. Persisting in this job would be solely his decision then.

“All right,” Lance finally said, shaking his head. “We’ll pull out of our business deal.”

Pidge smiled at him, relieved, and Lance remembered why he’d fallen in love with her in the first place.

* * *

Pidge resigned from clerking for Coran a month later in preparation for her quest to find Matt.

“It was a pleasure working for you, Sir,” she told him, “but I have other things I need to do.”

“Well, I’ll be quite sad to see you go,” he said, frowning at her from behind his desk. “Anything I can do to convince you to stay?”

“If you could bring my brother back,” she said, and when Coran sadly shook his head, she took her leave from him.

Pidge stood in the doorway, already pulling the door closed behind her, when Allura came running down the hall with a cry for her to wait. “Yes, my Lady?” she said.

“Oh, none of that,” said Allura, throwing her arms around her and almost making her drop her bag.

Pidge laughed, returning her friend’s embrace. “I’ll miss you too,” she admitted.

“You’d better,” she said. Then she withdrew, brandishing a sealed letter at her. “This came for you last night from the city. I didn’t have a chance to give it to you then.”

Pidge took it, curious who in the city would write to her since the only one she knew with any degree of familiarity was Keith. Well, unless–

She blinked, recognizing the neat handwriting that spelled her assumed name.

“Well, who’s it from?” Allura wondered.

“It’s from…” She cracked the plain blue seal, heart beating with unbidden excitement, and scanned the contents of the letter. “Oh.”

“What is it?” Allura said, not bothering to disguise her curiosity - or nosiness, Pidge would call it, if she had the presence of mind to respond.

“He’s leaving the city,” Pidge said. Why did her heart plummet in disappointment? She hadn’t seen Lance since she confronted him and Hunk at their inn, so why should she care?

Besides, she’d already arranged to leave Arus City in a few days too.

“Who?” Allura said, raising an eyebrow at her. “Pidge, do you have a beau you never told me about?”

Pidge blushed, staring at her friend incredulously. “What? No!”

“I thought so,” she said, laughing. “Oh, I’m going to miss having you around.”

Pidge smiled at her. “I’ll come back, Allura,” she promised. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Please,” Allura said with an unladylike snort. “I’m more worried about the people that kidnapped your brother.”

* * *

Pidge met Keith at the docks a few days later, palms sweaty and heart beating rapidly in anticipation. It would be her first time traveling by sea, and she wondered if her stomach would be able to handle it.

Keith, by contrast, seemed surprisingly calm when he approached her, a satchel of his belongings slung across his back. “Ready?” he asked her.

“Born ready,” she said, leading the way down the pier and searching for the one and only ship bound for war-ravaged Altea. But before she found it, a familiar voice called out:

“I thought you said spring, Pidge.”

Keith shot a glance at her, while she turned around to see Lance and Hunk, who smiled sheepishly at her. Lance though grinned with confidence, but Pidge still knew him well enough to see the edge of nervousness he sought to disguise.

“Hello Lance,” she said in an eerie echo of their last meeting. “What are you doing here?”

“Dunno yet,” Lance said, scratching the back of his ear. He glanced at Hunk, who shrugged and walked towards Keith, introducing himself before drawing him into a conversation further away.

They stood out in the open, but Pidge absurdly felt cornered.

Lance kept a sizable distance away from her, as if awaiting her permission to come closer. Pidge bridged the gap herself, until they were face to face and they could speak at a normal volume.

“You’re leaving to rescue your brother?” he wondered. He frowned now, worried.

Pidge nodded. “Yes,” she said.

“With…” Lance angled his head towards where Hunk and Keith talked.

“Keith,” she said, then added, “My friend. His guardian went missing at the same time as my brother.”

“I…see.”

Pidge snorted. “You’re jealous, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Ha, of course not!” Lance denied, but his face turned red.

Pidge grinned, but it disappeared when she remembered the letter. “I thought you were leaving the city.”

“I am,” he said, “if you’ll have me.” He smiled, but added, “And Hunk. We’re kind of a package deal now.”

She stared at him, shocked. “Why?”

“Well,” Lance said, looking straight at her, “what if I told you I’ve been in love with you since we were kids?”

Pidge blinked at him but in the end, she couldn’t fight her smile. “I’d tell you…me too, but Lance”–she cut him off as he opened his mouth to reply–“you don’t have to come with me because of that.”

“Maybe I’m doing it to change my life like you did,” he said.

She rolled her eyes at him. “You’re too comfortable being a conman,” she pointed out.

“And you weren’t?” he retorted.

“I might be convinced into doing it again,” Pidge said with a coy shrug.

“And you want  _me_  to convince you?” Lance wondered, resting his hands on his hips.

“Who better?”

Lance grinned at her. “No one, that’s who.”

Pidge laughed, feeling lighter than she had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so uh anyone read the Gentlemen Bastards series?? because writing this reminded me that i still haven't finished the first book


	10. The Sum of Our Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompts: "Well. Yell, scream, say something. Anything.“ / “I missed something didn’t I?”
> 
> Dystopian AU, angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166122583378/number-5-or-33-plance-pretty-please-with-cherries)
> 
> (also i know the chapter title is silly shh)

The moment in which Pidge pointed a gun at his face felt surreal.

No, the previous hour or so - spent sneaking away from the Garrison with Hunk, spontaneously breaking a war hero out of his holding cell with his rival, and stumbling upon a resistance hideout almost on accident - seemed awfully  _normal_  compared to Pidge holding a gun with its barrel directed right at Lance’s face.

“Pidge?” Keith said from under Shiro’s other arm. “They’re with me.” He sounded reluctant to say it though, but how he’d expected to free Shiro  _and_  carry him out alone was another mystery to Lance.

Hunk hovered, wringing his hands. “What’re we doing here?” he asked. “This is a resistance cell, isn’t it?”

Pidge’s eyes drifted to him before returning to Lance, who couldn’t understand why he had it out for  _him_  in particular. But then he lowered his gun.

“Allura’s going to be angry with you, Keith,” Pidge said, finally turning away from them and walking down the dark tunnel.

They followed, Lance almost stumbling under Shiro’s weight while Keith said, “I know, but–”

“Oh, she’s already pissed actually,” Pidge corrected. “She  _did_  promise to mount a rescue, you know.”

“I know, but what if he’d been moved before then?”

Pidge sighed as they stopped outside a door. He turned to face them again, holstering the gun on his thigh and crossing his arms. “I actually agree with you, Keith,” he admitted, shrugging, “but now we’re stuck with  _these_  buffoons too.”

“I take offense to that,” Hunk muttered.

To him, Lance hissed, “I missed something, didn’t I?”

“We’re in a resistance base operating right under the Garrison’s nose,” Hunk pointed out reasonably. “I’d say we both missed  _a lot_.”

* * *

Almost a year ago, the Garrison’s star pilot - the apple of their eye, the wind beneath their wings - defected to the Galra along with his two crewmates. At least, that was the word the Garrison put out, but Lance never really believed it. Shiro was a hero; why would he defect to his country’s bitterest enemies?

According to rumors, Keith had agreed, and last anyone heard of him was that he got expelled from the Garrison for ‘rebel rousing’ a month after Shiro defected. Supposedly.

And Pidge? He was Lance’s and Hunk’s teammate for just over eight months, until he disappeared from the Garrison, who, at this point, still hadn’t assigned them a new communications officer.

And now here all three of them were:  Shiro, still unconscious, lying prone on a cot in the corner while a man with an impressive orange mustache tended to him; Keith, head raised as he stared down a beautiful woman, named Allura, around their age; and Pidge, standing to the side with Lance and Hunk as if waiting a turn for something.

Lance couldn’t help glancing at Pidge every few seconds (though the strange woman lambasting Keith for disobeying protocol should’ve been its own form of entertainment). He looked a little taller, Lance thought, but considering he’d always looked younger than his supposed nineteen years, his height still did not impress. But there  _was_  something in his posture - confidence, probably - that made him look different, as if he’d grown by leaps and bounds in just the month or so he’d left the Garrison.

Pidge looked at him and their eyes met. Lance quickly averted his gaze, flushing.

“–and now we’ll have to move hideouts!” Allura was saying, eyes fixed on Keith in reproach.

“It was getting dangerous anyway,” Keith said, crossing his arms. “Pidge almost got caught last time she hacked into the Garrison’s mainframe.”

_She?_

Pidge rolled his - her? - eyes but didn’t contradict him, and Allura visibly composed herself, but her hands still curled into fists. “All right, you may have a point.”

“If I may make a recommendation, Allura,” said the ginger man, leaving Shiro to join everyone else, “we must wait until Shiro is at least awake. I can’t tell what all the damage is with him until he wakes up.”

“Thank you for your input, Coran,” Allura said, smiling fondly at the middle-aged man.

“Do you know when he’ll wake up?” Keith asked impatiently.

“Hopefully by morning,” Coran said, shrugging. “Now, I think our tempers would cool nicely if we all had something to eat.” He left the small conference room through a side door, leaving behind a tense silence.

“So…” Hunk said. “Uh, what do you want from me and Lance?”

“Yes, that is an  _excellent_  question,” Allura said with a glare at Keith, “and it wouldn’t need answering if  _someone_  had been more patient.”

“You can grow our cell with them,” Pidge suggested quietly, her eyes darting from Hunk to Lance.

(Was it just his imagination, or did they linger longer than him than on Hunk?)

“Can we trust them?” Keith demanded, looking between the two of them.

“Yes!” Lance said, probably unwisely since he knew nothing about them except  _resistance cell_. (And oh, his mother would  _murder_ him if she ever found out.)

Everyone knew about the resistance, though nothing good. They kidnapped youths and pressed them into joining, they accepted weapons and funds from the Galra, they stole Garrison equipment and shot down civilian planes.

_Supposedly._

But there had to be a good reason that Shiro - his  _hero_  - was here.

Hunk wilted under the scrutiny of the room’s other three conscious occupants, but Lance reveled in it. Then, to his surprise, Pidge said, “I’ll vouch for them.”

“What?” Hunk said, gaping at her.

“Yeah, you pointed a gun at my face the minute Keith led us into the tunnel,” Lance added skeptically.

Pidge smiled ruefully, but Allura slowly nodded, thumb pressed to her chin as she contemplated her suggestion. “That could work,” she said cautiously, “but you’ll be responsible if one of them betrays us.”

“If one of them betrays us,” Pidge said, tone ominous as she adjusted her glasses, “we’re all going down.”

Lance swallowed, wondering what he and Hunk were getting themselves into.

* * *

Some months later, and Lance was dispossessed of any misconceptions he’d had of the resistance.

 _“The Galra are not our friends,”_  Allura said with the vehemence one might deny being a traitor when speaking with a woman that lost her son in the war against the Galra.

 _“We do not pressgang youths to recruit,”_  she said, looking and sounding exhausted after disciplining another member of their cell for attempting to do just that.

 _“Shiro never willingly defected to the Galra,”_  she defended loyally when a rebel from a different cell started making accusations against theirs.

Lance found the coordination between rebel cells mind-boggling, especially when Pidge tried explaining how she managed it.

“Every cell has a communications specialist that can access the forums,” she told him and Hunk once while demonstrating. “Even when they’re forced to move - when the Garrison or someone else learns to track it down - someone else knows how to find it.”

Which was simple enough for Lance to comprehend, but he couldn’t wrap his brain around anything more technical than that.

Otherwise, each cell operated alone, with its own leader and distinct hierarchy and mission. And everyone had their own reasons for joining, whether personal or altruistic.

Lance had yet to learn what Pidge’s were, even though, by necessity, she was the member that he and Hunk interacted with the most.

 _“So…you’re a girl,”_  he’d said the first night they’d spent at the hideout. He’d lain back on his cot, trying to get comfortable despite the thin mattress’s springs digging into his back.

Pidge sat leaning against the wall, cleaning her gun with an efficiency that Lance - a trained marksman - knew she would’ve acquired through long experience.  _“Yes,”_  she said without looking at him.

 _“Is your name even really Pidge?”_  he wondered. He frowned at the dirt caked under his fingernails.

 _“No,”_  Pidge admitted. And though Lance waited, she didn’t elaborate.

(He assumed that the fake name was tied to her reasons for joining the resistance.)

Now Allura’s cell prepared to meet with another that actually operated within the borders of the Galra Empire, a secretive group tied to an ongoing insurrection with their own nation’s enemy. Allura contemplated an alliance - though her distaste with working with anyone tied to the Galra was apparent - despite the reluctance of most of the rest of the resistance.

Shiro had been the one to set up the meeting with the representatives of the so-called Blade of Marmora, since it was his idea and he had a history with one of their members.

“We have common goals,” he assured Allura.

“Perhaps,” Allura said, crossing her arms. Though she’d agreed to the meeting, Lance could tell she wasn’t pleased with it.

“The Blade of Marmora have a motto,” Pidge observed from beside Lance.

“Oh yeah?” he said. “It’s not in techno-babble, is it?”

She rolled her eyes at him, her foot brushing his under the table and making him shiver. “'Knowledge or death,’” she recited.

“Ominous.”

Keith sat across from them, absentmindedly toying with his knife. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“Don’t know,” said Pidge, shrugging, “but I hope they know…something.”

Lance exchanged a glance with Keith, who frowned before looking towards where Shiro still sat in conference with Allura and Coran. Did  _he_  know something Lance didn’t about Pidge’s history?

Hunk opened the door, interrupting the conference, and announced, “Their representatives are here.”

Allura stood. “Invite them in,” she said grudgingly.

Hunk nodded and retreated, the rest of them waiting in a tense silence until he returned with two tall hooded and masked men. Allura approached them.

“Can I request that everyone here show their faces?” she asked carefully.

The two men exchanged glances, but then only one of them lowered his hood and removed his mask. “Antok would prefer to remain masked,” he said.

Allura opened her mouth to retort, but closed it when Shiro rested a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine,” he said. “Let them have their secrets; some of us still have ours.”

Across the table, Keith fidgeted, hand going to the hilt of his now-sheathed knife. Pidge’s hands, resting on the table, curled into fists.

Introductions were made quickly, and Allura began the meeting. And in the end, the only thing that was accomplished was the Blade accepting incorporation into the resistance’s online network to exchange information even across borders, something that had Pidge smirking triumphantly.

 _Weird,_  Lance thought.

After Kolivan, the leader, and his lieutenant Antok left, Pidge disappeared into their room rather than waiting for Allura to debrief them on her thoughts and ask them to share theirs.

_Even weirder._

Lance waited until Allura and Shiro dismissed them, then dashed away from the gathering before Hunk did, determined to pester Pidge until she told him what was going on. He barged into the room, heedless of any need for privacy - they slept in the same room anyway; ‘privacy’ lost all meaning quickly.

Pidge sat at the desk in the corner, her back to the door as she scanned something on the computer screen, but she jumped and looked over her shoulder when she heard him enter.

“Lance,” she said, eyes wide. “What’re you–”

“So…” Lance said, sauntering over to her. “What did  _you_  get out of today’s alliance, Pidge?”

“The same as everyone else,” she said. “Access to Galra networks of communication, and coordination with–”

“Right, right.” He waved a dismissive hand and perched on the edge of the desk. “But  _besides_  that?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “What made you join the resistance, promising Garrison student that you were?”

Pidge glared at him; it was the first time he’d dared to ask her that directly, and she obviously wasn’t pleased. “Why do you care?” she demanded.

“We’re friends, right?” Lance said, but before she could contradict him, he added, “Besides, what if whatever you’re doing ends…poorly? Don’t you want someone to watch your back?”

He meant it; he wanted Pidge to trust him, since he trusted her. But saying that was a gamble since, for all he knew, she’d confided in someone else already, like Keith or Shiro.

(Actually, he was almost certain that Shiro and Keith knew more about Pidge than anyone else here.)

Pidge inhaled and pushed away from the desk to better face him. “Fine,” she said. “I…my real name is Katie Holt.”

Lance blinked. Holt? The name sounded familiar, but…

“My father and brother were Shiro’s crewmates and disappeared the same time as he did,” she continued, holding herself as if she felt cold. Like that, she looked more vulnerable than Lance had ever seen her.

He wanted to comfort her, to hold her.

_Where did that come from?_

“I enrolled in the Garrison because I didn’t believe they defected to the Galra,” she said, scowling. “I wanted to clear their names and find them, but then I joined the resistance instead because I thought it would be a quicker way to rescue them.” She grimaced and said in a softer voice, “I still don’t know if I’m right about that or not.”

“You’ll find them,” Lance said. The story stunned him; Pidge was related to Shiro’s crewmates? No wonder she didn’t like talking about her history. But he still felt the compulsive need to reassure her.

“Will I though?” Pidge said. Before Lance could argue, she added, “That’s why I needed the Blade of Marmora to join our network:  so I can gain access to Galra records more easily. Because Shiro was a Galra prisoner before he joined the cell.”

Lance nodded, understanding, as Pidge returned her attention to her computer. He opened his mouth to say something - offer words of comfort - but she gasped.

“No!” she said, staring at her computer screen with alarm in her eyes. “ _Fuck!_ ”

“What?” Lance demanded, standing next to her and looking over her shoulder. “What happened?”

“My hacking… They found us!” Pidge turned to him, eyes wide. She brought her hands up to her face. “Oh God, this is my fault…”

“What?” Lance repeated. “Pidge, explain.”

She did, and though her message drowned in a stream of panicky techno-babble, she got her point across, stunning him into silence.

“Well, yell, scream,  _say_  something. _Anything._ ” Pidge crossed her arms and raised her head defiantly. “Tell me I fucked up, because I know I did. Tell me I’m  _selfish_.”

Lance stared at her, trying to remain calm. “I…understand why you did it,” he said cautiously. “I miss my family too, but right now–” He cut himself off and said, “We need to tell Allura that the Galra now know about us.”


	11. Take Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fantasy prompt: first pet dragon(s)
> 
> Fantasy AU, fluff with a bittersweet ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166458979638/plance-first-pet-dragon-au)

“Your dragon  _ate_  my rooster!”

The short young woman stared up at Lance, gaze sharp and fierce enough that he resisted the urge to shrink away from it.

Instead, he glanced down at where Ariel curled her serpentine body around his ankles. She looked up at him, yellow eyes gleaming, and uttered a soft hiss. “Did you really go that far yesterday?” Lance asked, surprised. The day before was the first time he’d dared to allow his fledgling dragon out alone, without realizing she would venture as far as the next farm downriver.

Ariel burped, a single brown feather falling from her jaws.

Lance flushed, ashamed, while the woman facing him crossed her arms, not looking the least bit vindicated. “I’ll, uh…pay you,” he told her.

She tapped her fingers. “You’d better,” she said.

“How much?” Lance asked, mentally trying to calculate if his father had any spare coin lying around.

(Unlikely.)

The woman then smirked, and Lance felt a chill despite the warm summer morning. “Actually, I wondered where you got a dragon.”

* * *

A few months later, Ariel started flying, her thin blue wings spreading wide as she glided over the fields and the river, unsteady at first. She gained confidence rapidly, likely realizing she was almost the size of a horse and therefore untouchable as long as she was in the air.

She screeched gleefully, sounding like a hawk, and Lance smiled as he watched her skim her claws through the river’s surface, white spray trailing behind her.

A hiss from the trees had him jumping and spinning around to see Pidge with her own dragon - still much smaller and almost a whole year younger than Ariel - perched on her shoulder like a parrot, her tail curled loosely around her neck with her small wings tucked close to her body. Even here in the shade, her green scales glittered with reflected light:  she was beautiful, though not so much as Ariel, at least in Lance’s unbiased opinion.

“Did we scare you?” Pidge asked, reaching up to rub her dragon’s snout. She playfully nipped at her fingers, holding onto one before Pidge could draw her hand back. “Silly,” she scolded gently.

Lance grinned at the sight, nostalgic for the days when Ariel was still little enough to ride on his shoulders. He shifted as Pidge joined him on the riverbank, and replied, “Nothing scares me.”

“You can say that,” Pidge said, smirking, “but I still remember the time you jumped into the river because Rover crowed like a rooster.” As if it understood her words, her dragon - Rover - arched her neck proudly.

“It’s creepy how good she is at mimicking,” Lance said, pointing at her accusingly.

Rover nipped at his finger less than playfully, and he flinched back with a yelp.

“She won’t hurt you, idiot,” Pidge told him as he backed away.

As if to contradict her, Rover crowed…just like a rooster.

“She knows what we’re talking about,” Lance said while maintaining a safe distance from woman and dragon both.

Pidge shrugged. “Most likely,” she agreed. She held out her arm, touching a nearby tree trunk, and Rover crawled along, sinuous and elegant like a snake, and climbed up the tree. With barely any rustling of leaves, she didn’t stop until she was close to the top, where she stretched out to sun herself.

“So what are you doing here?” Lance asked when Pidge stood next to him again.

To his surprise, she blushed, her eyes fixed on the river where Ariel now tried to catch fish lurking under the current. “Your mother told me you were here,” she said.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “So…looking for me?” he remarked slyly. When she glanced at him, he smirked, nudging her. “I’m  _flattered_.”

Pidge snorted and rubbed her hands against her trousers. “You would be,” she said, “but…” She cleared her throat and faced him properly. “I came to say goodbye.”

Lance blinked. “What?” he asked. “Why?”

“My family’s traveling back to Altea to winter there,” she explained, crossing her arms.

“So?” He didn’t like the way his heart plummeted at the news, no, not at all. “You’ll come back in the spring, won’t you? So it’s not  _really_  goodbye.”

Ariel, as if sensing his rising distress, chose that moment to land on the bank, damp wings stretched out. She padded towards them, butting her forehead against his shoulder and begging for attention.

Lance, glad for the distraction, obliged by rubbing her snout.

“In the spring, I’m going to Olkarion.” Pidge shifted her feet, averting her eyes away from him. “I’m…going to school.”

“Oh.” For once at a loss for words, he just stared at her.

Of course she wanted to study. That was one of the first things he’d learned about her, when he took her to the dragon breeder that lived a few miles east. Living at the farm was temporary, she’d said; her mother had just wanted to move the family to the country for a year.

 _“My mother told me the country air would be good for me,”_  Pidge said, shrugging and rolling her eyes.  _“She thinks I’ll never go outside again once I’m closeted with my books.”_  She grinned and shared what seemed a secret glance with Lance.  _“She’s right though.”_

Lance laughed, surprised that anyone would prefer inside to out.  _“You’re weird, Pidge,”_  he said.

 _“So I’ve been told,”_  she said. She fell silent, face thoughtful, and they walked without speaking for a few minutes, until she said,  _“I’m starting to think it won’t be as bad or as boring as I thought.”_

Pidge flushed and looked pointedly away from him, and Lance felt his own face warm for reasons he couldn’t explain at the time.

He thought he could now though, if she asked. If she wasn’t leaving.

“When?” he asked.

Pidge looked at him again. “In a few days,” she replied. A bird sang mournfully in response, but when they looked up at the sound, it was only Rover, her jaws parted. “She’ll miss it here,” Pidge said.

“And you wont?” Lance demanded, resting his hands on his hips.

Pidge’s eyes widened. “Of course I will,” she said. “I never thought I’d say that, but I’ll miss…” She inhaled, as if bracing herself. “I’ll miss you.” She rubbed furiously at her eyes. “It feels like I miss you already.”

Lance understood what she meant.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and taking her wrists, wrenching her hands away from her face. “We’re not so far from the city, you know. The post makes it at least, so…write to me?” he suggested, quiet.

She met his eyes and nodded slowly. Her hands, damp with sweat, gripped his tightly. “I’ll write about how big Rover’s getting,” she said, a tremulous smile on her face.

“I’ll tell you about Ariel’s last catch,” he said, grinning at her.

“Enclose a few of the feathers,” Pidge quipped.

“She doesn’t like chicken anymore,” Lance pointed out, glaring pointedly at Ariel, still lurking at his shoulder. She hissed and tossed her head in response.

Pidge laughed. “Maybe the one she stole from me gave her a bellyache.”

“Or you really put the fear of God into her,” Lance said, teasing.

Ariel nudged him indignantly, hard enough that he almost lost his balance. As it was, he stumbled into Pidge, who let go of his hands to catch his arms and keep him upright. It put them in a… _strange_  position, standing too close, close enough that he could see each shade of brown in her eyes.

Pidge tugged him down by the collar and kissed him.

Lance’s eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed her back, reaching up to cup her face with both hands. She wound her arms around his neck, trying to pull him closer.

When they parted, they were both out of breath, and Lance suspected he was as red in the face as Pidge was. She stared at him, eyes wide with surprise as if she couldn’t believe what they’d done.

Lance didn’t blame her.

He laughed, trying to dispel the tension. “That was…” He trailed off and cleared his throat before trying again. “Good.”

Pidge snorted and rubbed her face, but he could tell she smiled under her hands. “I’m…so glad,” she said, sounding choked.

And after the light moment, Lance found his spirits sinking again when he remembered. He wrapped his arms around her, and she returned his embrace, head nestled under his chin and ear pressed to his chest. She sighed heavily, and Lance smiled, savoring the moment.

“I already miss you too,” he said.

Ariel added her voice, hissing softly and rubbing her snout against Pidge’s back, while claws dug into Lance’s shoulder, and he turned to see Rover perching there, the tip of her tail flicking gently on the back of his neck.

He lost track of how long they stood on the riverbank, holding each other and being nuzzled by the other’s dragon, but when it started to grow dark they finally parted, though still holding hands, and Lance promised, “We’ll see each other again.”

Pidge smiled, and despite the darkness Lance could see the teasing edge when she said, “We’d better, because you still owe me a rooster.”


	12. The Bridge between Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fantasy prompt: bridge troll
> 
> Fantasy AU, humor (or that's the intent, anyway) and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166492587013/if-youre-still-doing-prompts-bridge-troll-for)
> 
> (and yes, the chapter title is a play on words)

Many a traveler tried any number of tactics to pass Pidge’s bridge, from either direction. Some picked fights with her, some offered bribes, and some made a disastrous attempt to ford the swiftly flowing river below. During one memorable instant, a girl that couldn’t be older than eight even asked politely to be allowed passage. But never, in the decades she’d guarded the bridge, had someone tried to  _charm_  his way past her.

Pidge heard the two voices before she saw their owners, the cheerful conversation disturbing her fitful doze.

“… _sworn_  she was Altean, Hunk!” one voice said.

“Just because a woman has pointy ears doesn’t mean she’s Altean,” the other said in a long-suffering tone. “She could’ve been a troll, you know.”

Pidge touched the tips of her own ears. Humans, were they?

“Okay,  _first_  of all,” said the first voice, “just because no one’s seen an Altean in hundreds of years doesn’t mean they don’t exist anymore”–Pidge covered her mouth, muffling her laughter at the irony–“and  _second_  of all, she was too pretty to be a troll. Trolls are…ugly, right?”

Pidge snorted and rolled her eyes. Oh, she couldn’t  _wait_  to see how these two would try to pass her. The other didn’t seem too bad, but she might have to convince the second that the river wasn’t as dangerous as it looked just for the pleasure of watching him drown.

“Well, we’ve never seen trolls either,” the other remarked.

Their footsteps stopped about ten yards away, and the first warily said, “I have a feeling we’re about to meet one.”

“You think bridge trolls are real?” asked the other.

Before his companion could answer, Pidge emerged from underneath the bridge, climbing over the lip of the ravine and taking her usual place at the bridge’s entrance to see two men -  _human_  as she expected - still keeping their distance while they spoke. Where one was broad, the other was lean, though they were about the same height.

Both were armed, the broader with a crossbow and a battleaxe, and the other with a longbow. Not too bad, but Pidge still fancied her odds if it came down to the fight. Besides, the leaner looked light enough she could probably tip him into the ravine without much difficulty.

 _That_  was the one that stood with his back to her as they spoke, though even the other didn’t spot her immediately. Pidge smirked to herself; if they were so inattentive to their surroundings, what right had they to request passage over her bridge?

“Bridge trolls  _have_  to be real,” the first voice - the lean one with the longbow slung across his back - was saying as Pidge gripped the hilt of her knife. “We’re about to enter ancient  _Altea_. If there are no trolls here”–Pidge cleared her throat–“then where? Bless you,” he added without missing a beat.

Pidge counted. On two, the broader man finally looked over his companion’s shoulder, eyes widening as he spotted her.

“Uh, Lance?” he said. He tapped the other on the shoulder.

“What?” he said, glancing back. His gaze passed over her, scanning the ravine, but they snapped back to her when she waved. He jumped and spun around, stumbling backwards into the other traveler. “Hunk!” he exclaimed, alarmed. “That’s a…is that a  _troll_?”

“Guilty as charged!” Pidge called out to them, making sure to speak loudly enough for their inferior human ears to hear.

“But you’re–but she’s–but–” The lean man - named Lance - pointed at her, gaping.

“Not ugly?” Pidge suggested, crossing her arms.

“Yes! I mean, no! I mean–” He cut himself off again and grabbed the other - Hunk - by the arm and tugged him back, careful to make sure Pidge stayed in his line of sight.

She obliged, and didn’t bother informing them that they hadn’t retreated far enough to prevent her from eavesdropping.

“This changes everything!” Lance said, sounding excited.

“It does?” Hunk said, skeptical. “Just because the bridge troll is…pretty?”

Pidge snorted and turned her back to them; might as well give them a semblance of privacy.

“Yes,” Lance insisted. “Look, we can’t afford to bribe her, right? And  _maybe_  two of us could fight our way through her”–how  _deluded_  could he be?–“but now I see another solution.”

“Oh no,” said Hunk. “Please don’t say what I  _think_  you’re–”

“I’m going to charm her!” he interrupted. Pidge imagined him hammering one fist into his open palm.

“You mean  _seduce_  her,” Hunk said.

Pidge blinked, surprised for once.

“What? No!”

“Lance, really?” said Hunk, and Pidge thought she could  _hear_  him rolling his eyes at his companion. “And if that works”–which it  _wouldn’t_ –“what makes you think it would have failed if she was an  _ugly_  bridge troll?”

“It never would’ve occurred to me,” Lance admitted without any shame.

 _Of all the shallow idiots…_  Pidge, annoyed, unsheathed her knife. Her vows prevented her from straying far from the bridge with violent intent - even to defend - but now she was tempted to test her limits.

They were quiet, with Lance likely smirking hopefully at Hunk, while he considered his idea. Then:

“It’s better than being dismembered, though I think I’ll die of secondhand embarrassment anyway.”

A smack on the shoulder, and Lance said, “Hey, have a little faith in me, buddy. If she’s anything like Nyma,  _charm_  is the perfect solution!”

“Nyma stole your horse,” Hunk deadpanned.

“Fine, bad example,” Lance muttered sheepishly. “Just…let me do my thing.”

“So long as it doesn’t get us killed.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Pidge said under her breath. Out loud, she shouted, “You gonna stand around talking all day, or do you wanna try crossing?” She turned to face them, making sure they saw the glint of the sun on her knife.

Hunk frowned, but Lance seemed to steel himself, a smirk on his face as he sauntered over to her. “Are you a thief?” he asked.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Charming,” she quipped.

Lance didn’t falter and continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “Because you’ve stolen my heart.” He swept her an exaggerated bow, one arm outstretched as he bent at the waist.

“I could stab you through the back and end this hear,” Pidge told him, voice calm.

“And then you would fulfill my prophecy, dear bridge troll,” he said, standing up. There wasn’t a single trace of fear on his face, for which Pidge had to commend him - or else he underestimated her thanks to her short stature and slight build.

“Well,  _dear_  traveler,” Pidge retorted, pointing her knife at him and pretending she hadn’t overheard his planning, “what other than your heart do you offer as toll?”

“Alas,” said Lance, resting a hand against his chest, “I am but a poor traveler, without alms to spare to pay your toll. But please, allow me to pay you a compliment instead.” He kept his eyes on her, and she saw that they were blue.

Pidge cleared her throat and took a step back. “I decline,” she said. “Try again.”

Lance wasn’t deterred. “But oh, how valuable they are!”

“Not to me they’re not.”

“But your eyes shine like twin moons, and your hair–”

“No.” Pidge didn’t look at him. “If you wish to force a crossing, now’s the time. Hurry, before I grow bored and attack.”

To her surprise, Lance still smiled. “Stubborn and devoted,” he said. “I like it!”

For some reason, this compliment - and that smile - struck Pidge as more genuine than the rest. Not that it mattered.

Pidge took two steps towards him, touching the tip of her knife to his throat, with enough pressure to warn but not enough to injure. “This is your final warning,” she said through gritted teeth. “Either pay your toll, or I kill you while your friend watches.”

Lance swallowed, and Pidge followed the motion with her eyes. His smile finally faltered, sweat beading on his forehead, and he sighed. “Look, I need to get into Altea.”

“Then pay your toll.”

“Like I told you,” Lance said with a hint of impatience, “we don’t have any money.”

“That is not the toll I accept anyway.” Pidge’s heart beat rapidly, hoping he could  _pay the toll_.

“Then what–”

“Why?” Pidge demanded. “Most travelers seek Altea for glory or wealth. Are you one of them?”

“Well…” Lance chuckled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say no to any of that.”

“But?” she prompted, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Why?” Lance wondered.

“What?” She was so startled by him turning the question onto her that she lowered her knife and stepped away from him. “Why what?”

“Why guard the bridge and demand a toll?” he asked, shrugging. “Isn’t there something else you’d rather do?”

Dreams Pidge stifled long ago resurfaced, dreams of traveling and learning and  _flying_ , but she shoved them back under, remembering vows she was forced to honor to protect her family.

“Darkness reigns in Altea,” Pidge told him, a response spoken many times. “It’s unsafe and unwelcoming for humans like you.”

“So you…kill people who want to cross?” Lance retorted, raising an eyebrow at her. “How is that any safer and more welcoming?”

Pidge sighed and sheathed her knife. “I give anyone who wishes to cross the chance to turn back,” she said, resting her hands on her hips. “Some accept, others don’t.”

Lance mirrored her pose. “Is this my chance then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Please take it.”

His eyes swiveled to her now-sheathed knife before they met hers again, and held. He frowned thoughtfully, and Pidge held her breath until he shook his head and said, “No.”

Pidge could’ve torn her hair out, as  _aggravating_  as he was.

“Then pay the toll.”

“Then tell me what the toll is!”

“Why do you want to enter Altea?” Pidge said, glaring at him. “For money? Fame? Love?  _Why?_ ”

“For my family.”

Pidge wasn’t sure what she expected, but it wasn’t that. Her eyes widened, lips parted slightly. “Oh.”

“My nephew is sick,” Lance explained, in his intensity not paying much attention to her reaction, “and nothing we’ve done has helped, no potions or spells or  _anything_. And even if it doesn’t exist, our only hope is Altean magic, so–”

“I accept your toll.”

“What?” He stared at her.

Pidge rolled her eyes, tearing them away from him. “Don’t make me say it again,” she muttered.

“Th-thank you!” Lance said, smiling so gratefully that Pidge’s chest filled with a pleasant warm. “I could kiss you!”

“Please don’t,” she said, unable to resist the urge to laugh.

“Does my friend have to pay separately?” he then asked, tone sardonic.

Pidge crossed her arms and stepped aside, leaving the path to the bridge clear for him. “His payment is traveling with another,” she said. She shrugged and added, “It’s safer that way.”

Lance turned away from her and raised his hand towards his companion. “Hunk!” he said, grinning. “We can cross without losing an arm!”

“Oh, good!” Hunk said cheerfully, jogging up to join them. He shrunk away from Pidge though, despite a rather tentative smile.

Pidge watched them go, crossing the steady bridge spanning the ravine. Even on the other side, she could still overhear snatches of conversation:

“Told you I could charm her!”

“Oh, I never doubted you.”

Pidge didn’t retreat back into the ravine until their figures disappeared into the thick forest on the other side, and even then she found herself praying for their safety, hoping their path wouldn’t cross the witch’s.

Even in her time guarding the bridge, several travelers evaded her and managed to cross, but not even one returned to cross again. So Pidge hoped Lance and Hunk would prove to be the first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's also adorable [fanart of troll!Pidge](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166508946948/if-youre-still-doing-prompts-bridge-troll-for) by [nicollini](http://nicollini.tumblr.com/)!!


	13. No Clever Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the _a softer world_ prompt: "I think you are beautiful and I would like to kiss you. I can think up some clever lines, if you’d prefer. But I wanted to say that, first. (None of those lines seemed to be about you or me.)"
> 
> College AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166726697423/if-you-did-32-or-34-for-plance-that-would-be)

Flirting is one thing,  _courtship_  something entirely different.

It takes Lance too long to realize it, when he somehow nets himself his first girlfriend. Plaxum is pretty, and smart, and passionate, but within days of  _going out_  - fun days, undoubtedly, of holding hands and stealing kisses between classes - he starts seeing their mutual attraction as something shallow and not what he thought he wanted, not when the butterflies in his stomach stop flapping their wings every time he sees her, not when she frowns at one of his jokes and asks him to explain it, or when neither of them can muster much feigned interest in the other’s favorite subjects.

Their relationship fizzles out quickly, and Lance tells Hunk and Pidge, “Maybe I just liked the chase.”

“Or  _maybe_ ,” Hunk says with a pointed look, “you were with the wrong person.” He glances at Pidge, as if expecting her to add something, but she just shrugs, her attention fixed on her computer screen.

“What are you doing anyway?” Lance asks her. He sits in the chair next to her and leans into her space to inspect the screen, raising an eyebrow when he recognizes the site. “Pidge, are you on  _reddit_?”

Pidge doesn’t shrink away from him; in fact, she seems to shift closer. But she scowls deeply and complains, “Some asshole on the Internet is bitching about women in STEM fields.”

Lance laughs, reaching up to ruffle her hair fondly. “Yeah, you would,” he says.

Pidge bats his hand away, but the fact that she smiles feels like a victory.

When Hunk rolls his eyes, Lance shoots him a questioning look, but he only smirks.

Whatever; his friends are allowed to be weird sometimes.

* * *

It creeps over Lance like most important realizations do:  slowly building, then all at once.

It starts familiar, the jealousy that he feels too often burning in his chest when he sees Pidge talking to a boy in one of her classes. He’s walking with her, or really just behind her, while they discuss a group project. She makes a joke about their professor, and the boy laughs.

Lance doesn’t get the joke - it’s  _programmer humor_  - but he wants to, only so he can laugh with Pidge.

He brushes off the feeling when her classmate bids them goodbye, and she waves. When Pidge turns back to Lance, she smiles and asks him what he wants to eat for lunch.

It’s such an innocent, ordinary question, but the warmth of fondness fills his chest, pushing away the jealousy until he’s giddy for a reason he can’t quite explain.

They eat at a place off-campus since they both finished classes early that day. Hunk doesn’t join them though since he has a class early in the afternoon, and Lance, absurdly, is happy he has Pidge all to himself.

She chatters about her classes, about her family, and complains that she can’t go home for her brother’s birthday because she has an exam right after. Her foot brushes Lance’s leg as she talks, and he twitches involuntarily. She apologizes and is careful it doesn’t happen again for the rest of the meal, and Lance, disappointed, stretches his legs towards her, trying to tempt fate.

“Hey, since you can’t go home this weekend,” Lance suggests idly, “we should do something. You, me, and Hunk.”

“Oh, yeah?” She leans towards him, munching a French fry. “What do you have in mind?”

“Movie? You’ve been wanting to see that new superhero movie, right?”

Pidge stares at him for a heartbeat, lips parted, but then she says, “How did you know that?”

Lance shrugs, face hot as he flicks the crust on his sandwich for something else to put his attention on. “You mentioned it a few weeks ago and complained you didn’t have time?”

She blinks, surprised. “Oh,” she says. “I don’t remember that.”

“So…do you want to?” He steals a French fry off of her plate - she never finishes them anyway - and as he dips it into her ketchup, he continues, “And before you say you don’t have time, just consider it a study break. Two hours for a movie, maybe another hour for ice cream afterwards.” He smirks, as if he’s already won. “You don’t have to burn yourself out before every exam, you know.”

Pidge pushes her plate towards him, an unspoken invitation to have at the rest of her food, and as he helps himself, she says, “Fine, but I’m buying your ticket.”

“What? No way, I’ll–”

She nudges his shin and grins at him. “You bought my lunch today; it’s my turn.”

Lance slumps, crossing his arms, and sullenly agrees, “Fine.”

* * *

Hunk starts coughing Friday night, and by Saturday morning he’s used up half a box of tissues and drained two bottles of red Gatorade.

Lance rests his hands on his hips as he stares at his roommate, lounging on the couch with a textbook in his lap. “I’m going to guess you won’t be going to the movie with us?”

Hunk coughs, thick with phlegm. “You guess right,” he says, voice hoarse. He blows his nose and drops the used tissue into the waste basket next to the sofa. “Have fun without me.”

“As if that’s possible,” Lance quips, rolling his eyes.

Hunk laughs, right before it deteriorates into a brief coughing fit. Lance fills a glass with water and brings it to him, and after he drinks half of it, he says, “It is. Just go, and remember me in your vows.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “What vows?” he asks.

Hunk shrugs, waving a dismissive hand. “You’re gonna be late to the movie, and I know you hate missing the trailers.”

“Hmm, true. Take care, buddy.” He shrugs into his jacket on his way out the door.

Pidge already stands outside the small theater that serves the campus population, two tickets in hand. “Is Hunk doing okay?” she asks him as soon as she spots him. “He told me he’s sick.”

“He’ll be fine,” Lance says. “He’s never sick for long.”

A part of him wishes Hunk could’ve made it, but a slightly bigger - and rather guilty - part of him is almost glad that he and Pidge are alone.

Pidge doesn’t seem to mind either, as she grabs his arm and drags him into the theater, her fingers leaving heat on his skin even through the fabric of his jacket. She grins in anticipation, and her excitement about the movie infects him and he finds himself grinning back. She rattles off her theories about the movie while they stand in line to get concessions, and he manages to follow along despite his limited knowledge about its prequels.

Lance beats her to paying for the popcorn, sliding a ten-dollar bill across the counter when her wallet is only halfway out of her purse. She narrows her eyes at him, pouting slightly, and he smirks.

Once they find seats close to the back of the theater - which is fairly empty since the movie has been out for weeks already - Pidge complains, “You have to one-up me  _already_?”

“Fine,” Lance says, locking the bucket of popcorn between his knees. “If you don’t want me to pay for you, you don’t get any popcorn.”

Pidge ignores this and reaches into the bucket, pulling out a tiny handful. She then proceeds to grab his jacket’s hood and drop the kernels into it.

“Hey!” He makes a grab for her hand, almost upending the bucket, but she rescues it and sets it on the floor near her feet, laughing. He stands up and shakes the popcorn from his hood, glaring at her while she just laughs until she’s breathless, her face red and–

Lance’s breath catches and that’s when he knows he’s fucked.

He sits heavily, eyes wide while the realization creeps in. Pidge rests her hand on his arm, asking him if he wants to hold onto the bucket during the movie, but he barely hears her through the blood rushing in his ears.

The trailers start and Lance, who  _loves_  watching trailers, can barely pay attention. He’s conscious of Pidge’s presence in a new way, hearing her munch on popcorn, her arm brushing against his since they share an armrest. When Pidge points out a movie - an action comedy - that she thinks he would find interesting, he only nods, offering her a strained smile. She narrows her eyes at him, worried or suspicious or anything in between, but doesn’t question him.

The movie begins with pounding action music, Pidge tensing with excitement, but Lance’s mind still buzzes with facts that he never considered before.

He likes Pidge.  _Likes_  Pidge. Likes  _Pidge_.

 _Why should that surprise you?_  a voice that sounds suspiciously like Hunk asks.  _You’ve been friends for years._

 _She’s not my…type,_  Lance’s mental voice shoots back.

_So what? ‘Types’ are for favorite ice cream flavors and favorite books, not romantic partners._

Lance shoots a glance at Pidge, who watches the movie with rapt attention…until she turns her head to regard him, an eyebrow raised questioningly, a teasing tilt to her lips.

Lips he  _really_  wants to kiss.

A blush rises to his cheeks and he whips his head around again, facing forwards, heart pounding so loudly it seems to fill the whole theater during a quiet moment.

Pidge sighs, her own attention returning to the screen, and Lance exhales a relieved breath.

The atmosphere feels tense, something Lance could be imagining, and he wants to say something. Something that will, maybe, take his mind off this new awareness of Pidge, and him, and Pidge and him.

For something to do, Lance reaches into the bucket - now on Pidge’s lap - and pulls out a handful of popcorn.

The movie manages to engage his attention for some time, and it feels more  _normal_  when he starts making his perfectly  _witty_  observations, elbowing Pidge’s arm and smirking when he hears her soft snorts and sees her rolling her eyes. But then she rests her head on his shoulder, and he’s back to holding his breath.

He wishes they hadn’t finished all the popcorn so quickly.

Lance taps Pidge’s elbow and softly asks, “Do you want more popcorn?”

Pidge shakes her head, her hair tickling his chin.

“Oh, well,  _I_  want more popcorn,” Lance says, grabbing the bucket from where it rests on the floor and standing up, displacing Pidge from his shoulder.

She grumbles and slouches in her seat, pulling her feet onto it and wrapping her arms around her legs. “You’ll miss some of the movie,” she points out.

Lance shrugs, unbothered; he hasn’t been paying much attention to the movie anyway. “I’m sure you’ll fill me in later,” he says.

Pidge shoots him a smile in silent promise, and Lance walks along the aisle of seats and down the stairs. He pauses just outside the theater, eyes adjusting to the brighter lights, leans against the wall beside the door, and reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone.

Out of desperation - and because this is just what he  _does_  - he looks up programming pickup lines. He scowls at the screen though when they all prove to be stupid, shallow,  _cringey_ , and stuffs his phone away. Something like that wouldn’t do him any good anyway, not with Pidge.

Lance gets the refill and returns to the theater, and Pidge is the first to take a handful from the bucket.

“I thought you said you didn’t want more,” he says, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge blushes, and it’s obvious even in the dimness of the theater. “I changed my mind,” she says.

Lance sits, and the rest of the movie passes without incident.

He’s still disappointed when Pidge doesn’t rest her head on his shoulder again.

Afterwards, when they’re just walking around the mall chatting, she summarizes the movie as if he wasn’t there watching it with her, and for the moment he’s happy just listening to her talk about something she enjoys, at least until she asks, “So what did you think about that plot twist?”

Lance’s heart drops into his chest. “Uh…” What plot twist? “It was…good?”

“Really?” Pidge says, frowning. “Because I saw it coming from the beginning.”

Lance forces a laugh and nudges her side. “That’s because you’re smarter than me, Pidge.”

Pidge looks skeptical but doesn’t call him out on his deflection.

He lets her buy him ice cream, but only because she glares at him with the heat of ten suns while she passes her debit card over to the cashier. They sit quietly on a bench while they eat, and though there’s only a few inches of space between them, it feels like a void after how close they sat in the theater.

Lance finishes his ice cream first, brushing his hands free of crumbs from the cone as Pidge polishes off hers. She bites into it, humming happily, and he pretends like the butterflies in his stomach don’t exist alongside an ache in his chest.

Hair escapes her ponytail in wisps of brown, her nose reddened from an old sunburn. A spot of chocolate sticks to her chin just under her mouth, and her sweater is wrinkled.

The second epiphany in a single day strikes Lance, and he knows why his heart now fixates on Pidge.

She’s his best friend, and he can listen to her talk about her interests for hours. She can drag him into a conversation even if he doesn’t know much about the topic. She laughs at his jokes, and he laughs at hers even if she has to explain it to him. When they argue, they’re always quick to mend fences. And they’ve known each other for years, so he knows he won’t grow bored of her company.

Their entire relationship realigns itself in his head, and Lance decides the chase is overrated anyway.

“Pidge,” he says, quiet, and when she turns her head to look at him, he continues, “I…want to kiss you.”

Her eyes widen, cheeks reddening with a blush, and at first he fears that his impulsive declaration will chase her away, until she says, “Okay.”

Lance’s brain grinds to a halt. “What?” He stares at her incredulously.

“I said,  _okay_.” She rolls her eyes and scoots closer to him. “Or would you rather I kiss you?”

“N-no,” he says. “I can do it.”

“Then do–”

Lance presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, her breath stuttering out of her in surprise. When she doesn’t pull away, he reaches up to cup her face - skin soft under his fingertips - and turn it towards him.

Pidge sighs against his lips, the sound sending a thrill through his blood, but before he can deepen the kiss, she rests her hand against his chest and gently pushes him away.

“Why?” she asks, meeting his eyes.

“I think you’re beautiful,” he blurts out. It has her raising an eyebrow at him, a disappointed twist to her mouth, but since it’s not exactly what he means to say, he backtracks, “ _And_  I like you a lot. Do you–”

She shuts him up with another kiss, and he feels her smile. “Yes,” she says.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask,” Lance points out, indignant. “I could’ve asked you if you wanted food, or if you thought it was going to rain, or–”

“We just ate two buckets of popcorn and ice cream,” Pidge says, laughing, “and it’s a clear day.” She rests her hands on his shoulders and makes sure his gaze is locked on hers. “So unless the question was ‘do you want to go out with me’, the answer is 'no’.”

Lance laughs, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close. “Yeah, I can see why you would think that.”

Pidge’s own arms snake around his back, but then she picks something from his hood and pulls away from him. “You missed one,” she says, frowning at a kernel of popcorn between her fingers. She flicks it, and it strikes his forehead and bounces to the ground.

Lance hides his face and groans.

* * *

“You weren’t  _faking_ , right?” Lance asks Hunk yet again on Monday.

Hunk rolls his eyes and coughs. “I’m  _still_  a little sick, Lance.”

“I know, I know.” He raises his hands defensively. “Just making sure since you seemed to figure out that I like Pidge before I did.”

“It’s about time though,” Hunk comments.

Lance smiles, and it only widens when he catches sight of Pidge approaching them, face glum. “That bad, huh?” he asks.

Pidge grabs him by the collar and tugs him down so that she can look him in the eye. “Why the hell did I let you convince me that I  _had this_?”

“Because you decided you’d rather spend time with me than study?” says Lance, raising an eyebrow at her…and even feeling a little guilty.

She lets go of him and rubs her face. “I’m going to get a B and it’s all your fault.”

“What can I say?” Lance says, taking her hand. “I’m irresistible.”

* * *

Almost a week later, Pidge wakes Lance up to push her computer onto his lap. “I got an A,” she says, crossing her arms.

“I told you you’d be fine,” he says. He turns his head to look at his alarm clock, frowning when he sees how late - or how  _early_  - it is. “What the hell, Pidge?” he demands, glaring at her. “It’s three in the morning!”

Pidge smirks and takes her computer back, closing it and setting it on the floor beside the bed. She lies down and wraps her arms and legs around him and says, “Lance, it’s  _Saturday_. And now that you’re up…”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Fine,” he says, “but just know it’s your fault that I’m missing out on my beauty sleep.”

“Please,” Pidge scoffs, “you don’t need it.”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to smirk, but before he can make another comment, Pidge kisses him.

He’s wide awake for a while after that.


	14. Coded Cotton Candy Clouds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the _a softer world_ prompt: "When you’re around I don’t know how to hide my feelings. I count in binary, in my head. zero one one zero one one and you count clouds. (while you count clouds)"
> 
> Canon-verse (season 4 compliant), with mild/implied allurance, fluff and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166726697423/if-you-did-32-or-34-for-plance-that-would-be)

The clouds on this unnamed planet are wispy and gossamer and colored like cotton candy, in pastel pinks and blues, contrasting against an eerie white sky. They ride the wind like birds, winding and unwinding into impossible shapes, and Pidge wonders if she’s stepped foot onto a fantasy world.

Sometimes, her life feels more like fantasy than science fiction, space travel and giant robots aside.

“Pretty,” Lance observes from beside her, eyes fixed on the sky. He points at a pink one that spirals into a point. “That one looks like a unicorn.”

In her head, Pidge counts, pretends that her heart isn’t warmed by the sight of Lance smiling, actually looks like he’s having fun for the first time since Naxzela, pretends that they’re not all worried about Keith or Lotor or any of the other things that keep piling on, weighing them down like the planet-sized bomb did.

She and Lance are out alone while the Castle undergoes repairs. She offered to help, but Coran waved her away with a twinkle in his eyes, and even Matt, busy with the rebels, didn’t have a minute to spare for her.

Pidge crosses her arms and kicks a pebble, which skitters away, scattering light across its crystalline surface. Lance wanders with her, but his eyes still focus upwards, and Pidge has to grab his arm when he stumbles over a piece of space debris.

“Thanks,” he says, smiling sheepishly at her.

Pidge blinks, shakes her head, and keeps counting.

When she reaches 011011, they return to the Castle at the predetermined departure time and walk to the bridge. Allura, in conference with Shiro and Coran, turns around to greet them with a smile. “How was your walk?” she wonders.

Lance grins at her. “It’s pretty outside,” he says. “The clouds make the weirdest shapes. I saw one that looks like a unicorn.”

“What’s a unicorn?” Coran asks, twirling his mustache.

“A horse with a horn.” Lance takes off his helmet, setting it on his station’s seat, and mimes having a horn protruding from his forehead with his arm.

Pidge hides a smile behind her hand while both Allura and Coran blink in confusion.

“And what’s a…horse?” Coran says.

“And is it anything like a Kaltenecker?” Allura asks.

(Pidge wonders if there’s a story behind the way both she and Coran blanch at that.)

Lance rubs the back of his neck and shrugs. “Kind of, actually,” he says. Then he brightens and suggests, “Hey, I can show you! It was still out there when we came in.”

“Oh, uh, all right,” says Allura, offering her own tentative smile. She grabs her helmet and follows Lance out of the bridge.

Pidge watches them go, then tears her gaze away from the door, looking around and around and around for something to do. She approaches Coran and asks, “Are the repairs done?”

“Hmm, yes,” Coran says with a sideways glance at her. “We’ll be leaving within the varga.”

Pidge nods in acknowledgement and slumps into her seat, suddenly exhausted. She messes with the display at her terminal, scanning for nearby hostile systems to avoid, wondering if allying themselves with Lotor will make them even  _more_  of a target for Zarkon than before…

“…and you think it looks like a what now?” Lance’s voice drifts into the bridge at his and Allura’s return.

“Like a pink willowy honfluz,” Allura says.

They walk through the door together, helmets under their arms as Allura mimes whatever a 'willowy honfluz’ is.

Lance still looks confused, but he shrugs, unconcerned. “But you have to agree that a cloud shaped like a unicorn is pretty cool, right?”

“Yes, I suppose,” Allura says, “though I’m still not quite sure  _what_  a unicorn is.”

“A horse,” Lance says, sounding exasperated.

Pidge muffles a snort with her arm, and she jumps when a hand rests on her shoulder.

“You okay, Pidge?” Lance asks her, leaning against the back of her seat and glancing at her over his shoulder.

“Great,” Pidge says. She tries to resume counting, but she’s lost track of the last number she stopped at. “Never better.”

“Really?” Lance raises a skeptical eyebrow, even kneels beside her so he can better look her in the eye. “You seem…distracted.”

“Do I?” she wonders, meeting his eyes.  _Good,_  she thinks.

“Yeah…” He narrows his eyes at her. “You know, it’s okay if you’re not doing so well, right? We had a tough time, and–”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, and when he flinches back, scowling, she adds shamefully, “I’m just worried about my dad.”

“You’ll find him, Pidge,” Lance reassures her, his hand returning to her shoulder. “You found your brother, so you can find your dad too.”

Pidge stares at him, mouth dry. His proximity is both dizzying and comfortable at the same time, and–

She starts her counting from zero again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~this isn't me accepting that allurance will probably be canon no not at all~~


	15. Sitting in Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the _a softer world_ prompt: "I cannot help but notice we are sitting-in-a-tree. So, you know, maybe we could think of something to do… verb-wise. (I want us to gerund, essentially.)"
> 
> Canon-verse, bit of suspense but mostly fluff/humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166728449683/number-33-has-lance-written-all-over-it-actually)

“So here we are–”

“Lance.”

“–sitting in a tree…”

“Please shut up.”

Pidge feels Lance’s eyes on her, but she can’t look at him while that… _beast_  below circles the trunk of the tree they climbed in their rush to get away. Her palms still sting from where she scraped them tripping over a root, when Lance grabbed her arm and pulled her up so she could find her feet again.

(She still feels the heat of his hand too.)

“I’m just saying,” Lance says, waggling his eyebrows at her, “we can be doing something else to, you know,  _distract_  ourselves from whatever  _that_  thing is.” He points down, towards the beast.

Spines protrude from its back in a single line, and it prowls on four legs, the front two shorter and thinner than the hind two. It can balance only on the hind legs, if it wants, but even then it - thankfully - won’t be able to reach their perch.

Unless it can climb.

Fear prickles down Pidge’s spine and she shrinks a little closer to Lance, who seems much too calm considering their predicament. One of his hands rests on her shoulder, squeezing, and he says, “I’m actually having fun.”

Pidge stops herself from elbowing him in irritation, but she can’t resist shooting a glare at him over her shoulder. When he raises a questioning eyebrow at her, she demands, “How is this  _fun_?”

Lance shrugs and says, “Beats fighting the Galra.”

“At least when we’re fighting the Galra we have weapons,” Pidge points out. Lately she’d taken to carrying her bayard even while unarmored, but today she thought,  _Oh, we’re on Olkarion, the safest planet in the Alliance. Nothing could_  possibly  _go wrong!_

Only for her mistake to stalk them through the forest and chase them up a tree.

“Next time we land on a planet,” Pidge says through gritted teeth as the beast rears up on its hind legs and rents its claws into the tree’s trunk, “I’m getting a detailed report on the flora and fauna from Coran.”

Lance’s hand squeezes her shoulder tighter, and he says, “Yeah, I too would like to know what can kill us.”

It’s the most frightened he’s sounded since climbing the tree - he screamed when the beast first gave chase - and Pidge reaches back and grabs his hand. “We’ll be fine,” she tells him.

“I know,” Lance says, voice pitching a little high. “It’ll get bored, or hungry, and decide to hunt easier prey. Right?” He fixes his wide eyes on Pidge’s face.

Pidge grimaces. “We can hope.”

She loses track of how much time they stay up there, with her leaning against Lance and them holding hands in silent reassurance that the other is there with them.

Daylight fades, and Pidge wonders how long a predator’s attention can possibly hold, or even when their teammates will figure out that they’ve been missing for a while.

“Maybe it’s not nocturnal,” Pidge says hopefully.

Lance snorts and says, “The fearless Paladins of Voltron, stuck up a tree.”

“It almost sounds like a rhyme,” Pidge observes.

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Pidge twists a strand of hair around her finger thoughtfully. “How does it go? K-I-S–oh.” She hides her warm face in her hands as the meaning from Lance’s earlier words hits her.

“Hey, it’s leaving!” Lance says, tugging on Pidge’s sleeve.

She looks in the direction he indicated, and sure enough the beast lumbers away with no indication that it plans on returning.

Pidge glances at Lance, who asks, “You think it’s safe to come down?”

“Only one way to find out.” She reluctantly moves away from him and starts climbing down.

* * *

At the Castle, Pidge and Lance find Hunk and Allura chatting in the lounge while the mice eat the remains of someone’s dinner. They look up at their entrance, both grinning, and the way their smiles falter simultaneously at the sight of Pidge and Lance would be amusing if Pidge wasn’t furious.

“You’ve been here,” Pidge says, waving her arms, “eating and  _gossiping_ , while Lance and I got chased by a quiznaking  _stegosaurus-turned-T-rex_?”

“A what?” Allura asks.

“So  _that’s_  what it looked like,” Lance hissed from beside her.

“Why didn’t you call us?” Hunk asks, eyes wide in alarm.

“Call…what?” Pidge blinks at him, until realization hits. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her orange communication device, heart sinking into her stomach. But fury - at her stupidity as well as at their teammates inattention - destroys the shame and she retorts, “Well, didn’t you notice we were missing for  _vargas_?”

“We did,” Allura says carefully, clasping her hands together, “but Hunk thought you and Lance should have some time to yourselves.”

“Why the  _quiznak_  would we want that?” Pidge demands.

Hunk and Allura exchange a glance, with Hunk clearing his throat. He then stares pointedly between her and Lance.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Pidge says.

“What?” Lance says, swiveling his head to stare between her, and Hunk, and Allura.

“We’ve been betrayed,” Pidge tells him. She grabs his arm and tows him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

“ _What?_ ” Lance asks, more urgently. “What did I miss?”

Pidge tugs him down the hall towards Hunk’s bedroom and explains, “We’re fighting fire with fire.”

“…how do we do that? And  _what_  fire?”

Pidge smirks at him, despite the flush on her face from her audacious idea. “By sitting-in-a-tree in Hunk’s room.”

Lance blinks, confused, but when understanding takes hold he grins. “Pidge, I like the way you think.” Then he frowns. “Is this just for revenge, or do you actually want to–”

Pidge balances on her toes and pulls him down by the collar. She kisses him soundly on the lips and says, “Does that answer your question?”

His answering smile is slow and sly. “Yes,” he says, “yes, it does.”


	16. Nothing and Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the _a softer world_ prompt: "I miss doing nothing with you. (I miss not having to pretend to like your family.)"
> 
> Canon-verse (future/post-war), light angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166738149533/if-youre-still-doing-prompts-28-31-or-44-for)

Pidge likes sleeping in almost as much as she likes the feeling of a mission accomplished, but ever since returning to Earth, she hasn’t had a minute when she can simply  _breathe_  to herself.

When they left, they were a bunch of nobodies, students (or ex-students) from the Garrison; now there isn’t a person alive who doesn’t know their names.

Well,  _two_  names for her:  both Pidge Gunderson and Katie Holt are circulated in the press, and most of the time she doesn’t care to correct them. As far as she’s concerned, they are one and the same.

It’s Pidge’s first morning back on Earth that she doesn’t have to be anywhere by nine, and she fully intends to take advantage of that. Except Lance, an irritatingly early riser, has other ideas.

“Hey, Pidge,” he says, voice soft. He runs a fingertip along the shell of her ear, and when she reaches up to bat his hand away, he laughs, collapsing on the bed beside her.

Pidge groans and pulls her second pillow over her head. “What do you want, Lance?” she asks.

Lance tugs the pillow off of her so he can look her in the eye. She does her best to glare at him, but the sunlight streaming in through the window blinds is harsh on her still-drooping eyes, and he smirks.

“What?” she says. She rubs her eyes, doubting that she’ll be going back to sleep this morning.

“It’s quiet,” he says, pointing towards the bedroom door.

Pidge then recognizes that something  _is_  missing, that there’s something unusual about this morning besides simply not having anywhere to be, and that is–

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

Lance stretches his arms and folds his hands beneath his head. “My sister went back home last night,” he says, “and my brother has work and his kids are probably playing soccer somewhere.” He turns his head to look at Pidge. “My parents probably went to visit my grandpa at the nursing home.” He raises an eyebrow. “I think we actually have the house to ourselves for once.”

They stare at each other for a minute, and Pidge reads in his eyes any number of ideas he has for something they could be doing, activities ranging from innocent - they’re still working their way through Lance’s very long list of favorite movies some nights - to  _less_  innocent but no less enjoyable.

Pidge has one idea in particular, and she smiles as she rests her head against Lance’s shoulder and wraps her arms around his torso. “I’m going back to sleep,” she tells him, her voice muffled by his shirt.

Lance laughs and says, “You’re persistent.” His fingers card through her hair, and he starts humming, his chest vibrating beneath her head.

“I miss doing nothing with you,” she confesses quietly.

His hand freezes, and he asks, “What do you mean?”

She shrugs, the serenity of the room making her mind sluggish in formulating a response, but she says, “Just…stuff like this.”

“Lying in bed?”

Pidge props herself up on her elbows so she can look him in the eye. “Among other things. Like laughing, joking, eating, playing video games…with our friends or by ourselves.”

Lance still looks confused, pouting slightly as he tries to understand. “We still do that stuff sometimes?” he says.

Pidge sighs, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. How can she explain to him that she misses the quiet of space?

It’s not that she doesn’t like his family, but most of the time they threaten to overwhelm her. They’re loud, and they ask prying questions that she wouldn’t like hearing from her own parents, let alone someone else’s. And if they’re not at Lance’s family’s house, maybe they’re at hers, but Pidge’s is in the mainland United States and constantly swarmed by press.

Earth is loud, and space is quiet. Earth is busy, and space is wide. Earth is crowded, and space is empty. Earth is everything, all at once, almost too much for Pidge to handle after years away, and space is nothing, both literally and in the comforting way of  _home_.

Fighting the Galra was never  _nothing_ , but real life feels too much like Something Pidge never prepared for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the future scares you raise your hand and say "aye"


	17. Falling Downstairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the _a softer world_ prompt: "I am writing a book of love poetry for you. For example: “The only reason you could possibly need your music that loud is if you were planning to listen from my apartment. You downstairs motherfuckers.” (Every day I hope to see a moving truck pull in. Or an ambulance.)"
> 
> College AU, fluff (so much fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166867835808/so-a-week-or-less-ago-i-was-taking-a-softer)

Pidge recognizes the guy sitting two rows in front of her in her history lecture, or she thinks she does.

He's the only other senior in a class of eighty or more freshmen, and that alone might convince her to gravitate towards him if she didn't also recognize him.

Naturally that means she avoids him instead, which backfires two weeks into the semester when he drops himself into the empty seat beside her and says, "You're Pidge, right?" When she turns her face towards him, he adds, "You worked on that one project with Hunk?"

Her jaw doesn't drop in surprise that their recognition is mutual, but it's a close thing. She says, "Yeah, and you're his friend Lance?"

He grins at her and says, "Yep, that's me."

They don't speak again for the rest of that lecture, and Pidge puts him out of her mind in favor of focusing on the professor's slides. But her eyes are still drawn to him, curious about someone she only knew casually for a few weeks.

He doesn't seem to be paying attention, but he makes a good show with an open notebook in front of him and a few hastily scribbled lines. Instead he spends most of the class alternating between a game and a messaging app on his phone.

Pidge pointedly turns away; this may only be a general education class that she spent the last three years procrastinating, but she'll be damned if she lets an acquaintance - one she distinctly remembers being  _flirty_  - distract her.

(Even if she had something of a crush on that acquaintance, once.)

* * *

 

Pidge's final year of college sees more changes than she would like. Her brother finished graduate school the year before and moved across the country, and her parents - chasing a new job opportunity for her father - weren't far behind. And that all means that Pidge has to lease an apartment - live alone for the first time - until she graduates.

She foregoes a roommate and finds a cheap studio apartment ten minutes from campus, close enough that she can walk, and she has her Vespa for when she'd rather not. And it's not so bad, if a little lonely, except for one problem:

The resident in the apartment beneath her blasts music at random times of the day and night.

They'll play anything, from catchy pop beats to hip hop with a bass that shakes the floor beneath Pidge's feet. She snuggles her noise-cancelling headphones on, trying to focus on the internship application she's filling out, but the music is so loud, so pervasive, that they don't do her much good. They're only man-made, after all.

Pidge grits her teeth and packs her laptop in her bag; at least the campus library opens on Saturdays.

* * *

Lance's presence in her history lecture becomes a fixture, and she even starts going to class early in the hopes of seeing him. At first they only really talk about Hunk, their mutual friend, and their classes. Lance is a science major, rather than engineering like her, but there's still a surprising amount of common ground between them.

They exchange phone numbers during the third week of class, just in case, and exchange notes too. Pidge is good at getting down the information on the professor's slides, but Lance latches onto her spoken lecture more easily; conveniently their notes complement each other, allowing them to fill in gaps that Pidge might've struggled to if she braved history lecture alone.

But for those first few weeks, their acquaintance begins and ends for an hour a day, three days a week. They don't talk much outside of class, though Lance will sometimes text her asking if she can explain a particular facet from their lecture notes.

And that's all right with Pidge, at least for now.

* * *

Pidge's downstairs neighbor turns on the show tunes while she's in the middle of a video chat with Matt.

She groans and buries her face in her arms, and Matt asks, "What's wrong, Pidge?"

"My idiot downstairs neighbor," she complains, turning her head up to look at her computer screen. "Almost every day, without  _any_  pattern I can find, they blast their music." She tilts her head, trying to identify the musical in question. "It sounds like  _Rent_  today."

Matt laughs. "Welcome to the college life, Pidge," he says cheerfully. "Or maybe the apartment life." He shrugs.

"You lived with us all through college," Pidge points out, narrowing her eyes at him.

"And now I live alone!" Matt says, shrugging.

She shifts in her seat and, when the music doesn't falter after a few seconds, she plugs her headphones into her laptop and puts them on. "So you haven't found a roommate yet?" Pidge says. She reaches into the bag of pretzels open on her desk and pulls out a few, munching while chatting with Matt.

"Nope," Matt says. His cheer falters, and he admits, "Damn, it's expensive here in Silicon Valley."

Pidge snorts, snapping a pretzel with her teeth. "Even I knew that."

"Yeah, but..." He waves his hand dismissively and says, "But enough about me. How's your last year going?"

She shrugs and rearranges a few things on her desk. "It's going."

"Really? That's it? Nothing interesting?"

For some reason, her mind flies to Lance. "I actually know someone in my history lecture," she admits.

"Oh yeah?" Matt smiles, looking relieved. "That's good since it means you have someone to sit with."

"Sure," Pidge agrees, but she doesn't want to talk about Lance. Instead she occupies herself with eating another handful of pretzels, and asks Matt, "How's work?"

Matt smirks and gets into his new topic of conversation, and Pidge breathes a sigh of relief.

When they finally end the call - Matt's a whole three hours behind her and she's starting to feel sleepy - Pidge takes off her headphones and immediately regrets it when she hears that her neighbor has moved on to  _Wicked_.

* * *

Lance invades her life so subtly that an hour doesn't pass without Pidge catching herself thinking of him, whether she's eating lunch with a few classmates or sitting in a completely different lecture. She catches herself reaching for her phone to send him a meme she thinks he'd find funny, or photos of jellyfish or dogs or sharks or any other animal he once mentioned liking.

She smiles more in a class she thought she'd hate than she does any other time of the week, even when she's talking to her brother or parents, and when she finds herself looking forward to history she knows there's no going back.

The week of their history midterm, Lance suggests they get together and study, and Pidge accepts more quickly than she'll ever admit.

Pidge meets him at the library, and they closet themselves inside one of the private study rooms. She provides the snacks and the comprehensive notes, and Lance provides the coffee and the distraction.

Not that they don't focus on actually studying, at least at first, but Lance's attention wavers within a half hour, and Pidge can't help expressing her frustration.

"Why did you want to meet if you won't even  _study_?" Pidge complains, prodding his arm with the tip of her pen.

Lance glances at her. "Maybe I like spending time with you?"

"Then why didn't you suggest something  _else_?" Pidge demands. And she doesn't blush, no, she does not.

Lance shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. "I didn't think you'd agree?" He sips his coffee, then says, "Tell you what, if you can beat my high score at this game"--he holds up his phone to show her--"then we'll keep studying and I won't distract us anymore."

"And if I  _don't_  beat you?" Pidge crosses her arms. "We still have an exam, you know."

"Oh, I know." Lance smiles disarmingly. "But knowing you, you've got it in the bag."

"Knowing  _me_?"

"Yeah. Hunk says you're a genius."

Pidge stares at him, wide-eyed, but then she shakes her head and gestures for his phone. "Give that to me then."

"You don't want to know what I want if you lose?" Lance asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge drops her arm on the table. "It's not to just have done with it?"

"Well, it is," he says. He taps his fingers against the table, looking thoughtful. "But there  _is_  something else."

She sighs. "And what's that?"

Lance smirks. "We level-up our friendship."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Easy. We start hanging out outside of history class." He props an elbow on the table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "If you want to anyway." He leans towards her a bit, close enough that she catches a whiff of the cologne he wears, smiling hopefully.

Pidge doesn't tell him he could've asked her anytime, without the pretense of a stupid game. Instead she snatches the phone from his hand and tries her best. But she's never played it before, and she's seen him playing this rather than paying attention in history for weeks now, so she can't beat his high score in the time they still have the study room reserved.

She can't help sulking as she hands his phone back to him outside the library, and her scowl only deepens at the smug grin on Lance's face. "So lunch after the exam tomorrow?" he asks her cheerfully.

Pidge rolls her eyes. "Fine," she says. But once they're going their separate ways - Pidge to an evening class and Lance to wherever he has to be next - she can't help the smile that splits her face.

* * *

Pidge's newest coding assignment comes along so poorly that the next time her neighbor plays their music, she composes an angry letter as a warmup:

 _Dear Downstairs Motherfucker,_  
Congratulations. I hold you singlehandedly responsible for any of my failing grades. Do you have to blast your music so loud? The only logical reason I can think of is if you were trying to listen to it from MY apartment. I'm looking forward to seeing a moving truck, or even an ambulance, but I don't know if it would be more satisfying for ME to kick your ass or to watch some other annoyed neighbor do the honors.  
With all my love,  
Your Livid Upstairs Neighbor

In a fit of pique, she draws a heart with a green highlighter on the bottom of the page. And after another moment of consideration, she tapes a Reese's peanut butter cup to the paper as well. What can it hurt? Maybe they'll accept bribery.

Pidge storms down the stairs and finds the apartment right beneath hers. She tapes the letter and peanut butter cup to the door and returns upstairs.

Her downstairs neighbor doesn't blast music that evening, allowing her some headway on her homework, but when she wakes up the next morning she finds a response taped to her door along with a fun-sized Snickers bar:

 _Dear "Livid Upstairs Neighbor",_  
Thank you, I accept the responsibility and the consequences, but maybe you should come down here and say all that to my face? Or invest in some noise-cancelling headphones? I can even make some recommendations for you, if you'd like.  
Love,  
The "Downstairs Motherfucker"

Pidge scowls and crumples the paper into a ball, but a prickle of familiarity seizes her and she smooths it out on her desk. She thinks she recognizes the handwriting, and brings the paper close to her face, squinting at it. A whiff of cologne or perfume tickles her nose, but even her scent memory fails her.

She scoffs, balling the paper up again and dropping it into a desk drawer. She eats the candy as she considers her retaliation.

* * *

"...and that's how I got  _that_  scar," Lance finishes his story with aplomb. He rolls up his sleeve, showing off a thin, ridged line of white on his forearm.

Hunk frowns at him. "What are you talking about?" he asks. "You fell and cut yourself on a piece of glass at the beach. I remember; I was there."

"Hunk!" Lance screeches indignantly, glaring at him.

Pidge laughs and sips at her milkshake. It's late on a Friday night, and for once she's taking a break from worrying about midterms (she still has one left, though it isn't for another week) and homework assignments and applying for graduation and all the other stuff she has to do before the end of the semester.

"Next you're gonna try to prove that your belly button is a heroic battle scar too," Pidge quips.

"You think anyone would believe it?" Lance asks hopefully.

"I once told someone that my birthday is on the thirtieth of February," Pidge says, smirking.

"And did they believe you?" Hunk says.

Pidge says, "No, but it took them a hot minute." She uses a spoon to finish the last of her milkshake, scooping whipped cream and the maraschino cherry out of the glass. Her phone buzzes with a text message from Matt, inquiring if she wants to video chat.

Lance teases Hunk about his not-really girlfriend while Pidge sends a quick negative reply to Matt. He shoots back almost immediately asking why, and:

_Did you finally make friends? Three years late?_

Pidge rolls her eyes and returns a terse, simple "yes".

"Who're you talking to?" Lance asks, startling her into almost dropping her phone.

It lands in her lap though, and Pidge says, "My brother. He's surprised I'm out since he thinks I don't have any friends." Her phone vibrates again, making her jump.

_Pics or it didn't happen._

Pidge scowls at the screen and asks Lance and Hunk, "Do you mind if I take a picture?"

Lance's eyes light up as he grins, and Hunk says, "Sure."

Pidge gets up and walks around the table so she stands behind and between them, but Lance snatches the phone from her hand before she can hold it out in front of her. "Hey!" she says, indignant as she reaches for it.

Lance holds it away from her, almost out of reach. "I'm the selfie expert here," he claims with a wink. "Besides, you have short arms."

Pidge hates the way she flushes, but she manages to hold his eyes in a silent battle of wills. He does, however, have a point, and she might as well send her brother a decent photo rather than a half-assed one, so she agrees, "Fine, just don't drop it."

"O ye of little faith," Lance says, holding the phone out before the three of them and turning the screen towards them, "that will definitely not happen."

She sighs but bends her knees so that her head hovers between his and Hunk's. "Take the picture," she says, "before I lose my balance."

"Then why don't you hold onto my chair?" Lance suggests, glancing sideways at her.

They're close, close enough that she can see he has a few freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, and the way her heart beats leads her to think that she might've consumed too much sugar tonight. "Just take the photo, Lance," she says.

Lance turns his head towards the phone, and Pidge, usually uncomfortable being in photos, doesn't have to force her smile.

* * *

Two weeks after her history midterm, an entire weekend passes that Pidge doesn't hear a peep from the apartment beneath her.

By now Pidge and her neighbor have exchanged more notes, ranging in length from a salutation plus a few words to a half page of irritated ramblings on either of their parts. One of her desk drawers is filling with balled up letters, and the waste basket beside it is becoming a receptacle for Snickers wrappers. Pidge herself has left her neighbor more Reese's cups than she's kept for herself in the last two weeks.

At first she wonders if her neighbor finally surrendered, and she makes good use of that quiet weekend, drafting a term paper and applying for summer internships (it may be autumn, but it's never too soon). She even finds herself with enough time to play video games.

On Saturday evening though, Pidge is so bored that she texts Lance asking if he and Hunk want to do something, only to receive the reply that he was visiting his family for the weekend. So she frowns at her phone and texts Hunk instead, asking what he's doing on Sunday.

She meets Hunk at the nearby mall, and he asks, "What do you usually do on weekends?"

Pidge shrugs and admits, "Not much. Homework, play video games, fight my neighbor."

Hunk raises an eyebrow at that. "What did your neighbor do?"

Pidge scowls. "Play their music loud enough to wake the dead."

He laughs as he leads the way down the street, his eyes scanning the surrounding shops.

"Are you...looking for anything in particular?" Pidge asks him.

"Shay's birthday is this week," Hunk explains, pausing thoughtfully outside a store selling inexpensive - but still pretty - jewelry.

Pidge glances sideways at him, a sly smirk curling her lips. "Very cute," she says. "I'm sure she'll love whatever you get her."

Hunk narrows his eyes at her, but to his credit he doesn't blush. "We're just friends," he insists. "She is a classmate I met and admire very much."

Pidge crosses her arms, still smirking. "Uh huh, sure."

"Oh, not you too," Hunk gripes. But he pushes the door and steps into the store.

Pidge follows, and every time Hunk picks something, he shows it to her. But she shrugs and admits, "I not only don't know Shay, but I'm also awful at gifts."

"She likes earrings," Hunk says. "She seems to wear a new pair almost every day." He smiles, eyes distant like he's daydreaming, and Pidge wonders if she looks like that when she thinks of Lance.

Which is itself a strange thought to have, Pidge realizes, shaking her head to clear it and focusing on another pair of earrings that Hunk shows her.

Pidge grows bored quickly, and Hunk picks up on her mood and finally decides on a pair of earrings that likely pushes the envelope of his budget. Out of gratitude for her patience, Hunk buys her coffee, and they linger in the cafe, talking about classes, what they want to do after graduation, and, inevitably, Lance.

"So does Lance still bother you during history?"

Pidge shifts in her chair and toys with the sleeve on her cup. "I wouldn't say he  _bothers_  me," she says.

Hunk snorts. "Weren't you complaining the other day about him distracting you?"

"Well, yeah..."

Then his eyes widen, and dread curls in Pidge's stomach as he says, "I see what's going on." He smirks. "You  _like_  him."

"No I don't," Pidge is quick to lie.

"You do!" Hunk says gleefully, probably in revenge for all the times she teased him about Shay. "You want to sit-in-a-tree with him!"

Pidge chugs her coffee, wishing it's still hot enough that she can delude herself into thinking that the heat in her cheeks is from the beverage rather than a blush. She roughly sets her now-empty cup on the table and tells Hunk, "You can't prove anything."

Hunk shrugs. "I don't need to," he says. "Your face is all the proof I need."

She covers her still-warm cheeks. "Please don't tell him."

"I won't," he promises, "but I think you should."

She frowns at him. "That's a terrible idea."

"And why's that, Pidge?"

"He..." Pidge sighs and tugs on the end of her ponytail. "I can't unless I know for a fact he..." She scowls, frustrated with her inability to say it outright.

"Likes you too?" Hunk suggests. At Pidge's nod, he concedes, "That's fair."

"Besides," she continues, squeezing her empty cup in one hand, "he's never shown any  _sign_  of  _that_."

"He will, Pidge." Hunk pats her shoulder, comforting her, and Pidge doesn't bother contradicting him.

When Pidge gets home, she hears her neighbor playing their music again, and there's a note taped to her door, a reply to the last one she left for them:

_Miss me?_

Pidge rolls her eyes and smiles as she tears it off.

* * *

_So tell me about Lance._

Pidge waits outside the lecture hall before history when Matt messages her, and she stares incredulously at the words on the screen, trying to formulate a reply in her head at least based on everything she might've said about Lance to her brother.

 _What about him?_  she asks.

Matt doesn't reply immediately, giving Pidge the opportunity to glance around her surroundings. Her eyes catch on Lance's approaching figure and narrow when she sees he's not walking alone but is with a girl, the both of them laughing about something, Lance's eyes happily alight.

Pidge feels a rush of irrational anger and looks away. When the lecture hall opens to admit them inside, she rushes into class towards her usual seat without waiting for Lance, and once he joins her she avoids his gaze and only mumbles a halfhearted greeting.

Her phone buzzes as the professor sets up her laptop in the front of the hall, and she glances at the screen to read Matt's message:

_I need to know what kind of guy I might have to fight._

Pidge rolls her eyes and leaves Matt on read, so he sends another text seconds later:

_Just kidding! But seriously, what's he like?_

She finally glances at Lance, who meets her gaze and smiles warmly. And the knot of anger and hurt inside her loosens, and she smiles back.

The professor starts her lecture, and Pidge ignores Matt in favor of listening. But of course, Lance has other ideas.

"So...you missed me over the weekend?" he asks with a smirk, voice low so they don't disturb their other classmates.

"You wish," Pidge retorts, eyes fixed on the professor's slides.

"I know, I'm sorry I had to deprive you of my presence for an entire weekend--"

Pidge snorts.

"--but don't worry, I missed you too."

Her pen freezes, halting her notes mid-word, and when she glances at Lance he winks. Pidge blushes and scowls, trying to recover her focus, but she says, "Yeah, I guess I missed you too."

Lance grins and, apparently satisfied, lets her pay attention to the lecture.

Afterwards, Pidge texts Matt,  _Wouldn't you like to know ;)_

* * *

During dead week, Pidge's irritation with her downstairs neighbor comes to a head, and leaving passive aggressive notes and candy taped to each other's doors isn't cutting it for her anymore. So after two minutes of trying to study through AC/DC, she shoves her feet into her kitty slippers, grabs a whole unopened bag of Reese's peanut butter cups, throws on a robe over her pajamas, and storms downstairs, practically jumping down the steps in her hurry to reach the offender.

She pounds on the door and waits, impatiently tapping her foot.

Her neighbor pauses the music, and for a moment Pidge thinks that would be the end of it, there need not be any confrontation, only for them to open the door.

She doesn't look up until after she's thrown the bag of candy into their chest.

"H-hey!" they screech.

It's Lance.

 _Of course_  it's Lance.

Her anger and irritation melt away, and she gapes at him, standing there with wide eyes, barefoot and wearing a blue t-shirt over sweatpants. His hair looks like he's been running his fingers through it for hours, and Pidge is so stunned that she can't remember the rant she planned on her way downstairs.

Lance recovers first, and he leans against his door frame, arms crossed. "So you're my 'livid upstairs neighbor'?" he says, smirking.

"'Downstairs motherfucker'," Pidge breathes.

"You know," Lance says, reaching down to pick up the fallen bag of candy, "you have a weird way of showing you hate me."

"I don't hate you," she says. God, this is uncomfortable; she shuffles her feet. "I just hate how loud you blast your music."

"Yeah, the guy who lived in that apartment before you felt the same," Lance says. He waves a dismissive hand, and then opens the bag. "Actually, he might've hated me too."

"What happened to him?"

"Oh, I murdered him and stuffed him in my closet when he complained." Pidge stares at him, crossing her arms, until he laughs and says, "Just kidding. He dropped out."

"Not your fault?"

"Please, Pidge, what kind of person do you take me for?" He offers her the bag.

Pidge rolls her eyes and says, "I have plenty more upstairs."

"Yeah, I should've known it was you from all the Reese's."

"And I should've figured out it was you from the  _scent_." Pidge waves a hand over her nose. "Did you  _spray_  those notes in cologne?"

Lance, halfway through unwrapping a piece of candy, glances up in surprise. "You pay attention to my  _scent_?"

Pidge, now realizing how strange that must sound, flushes. "What?" she says, voice pitched higher than usual. "You always wear cologne, and I sit next to you in history, so..." She shrugs.

He snorts, but she thinks he might also be blushing. "Right, sure."

Thinking it's finally time to end this, she forces a smile and says, "Uh, keep it down? Please?"

Lance returns her smile, something soft and private. "Sure," he says, "anything for you, Pidge."

Pidge exhales, relieved, and turns to leave, but she doesn't hear Lance shut his door until she steps into the stairwell.

* * *

Nothing notable happens during finals week, and at the end Pidge is more than ready to go back home for her three weeks of winter vacation, though not without saying goodbye to Lance.

"See you in January?" he says while they stand together outside their apartment building, with Pidge waiting for her ride to the airport and him there seeing her off.

"We don't have a class together anymore," she points out, disappointed.

Lance rolls his eyes. "You have my number, Pidge," he says. "Use it."

Pidge's shuttle finally pulls up to the curb, but she still turns to Lance and agrees, "Fine, you've convinced me. I'll call you when I get home, okay?" She smiles and stands on her toes so she can press her lips to his cheek.

It's a gesture she doesn't think about, something that feels natural though she's never done it before, but when Lance stiffens her awareness of her own actions returns. She stares at him, eyes wide, and says, "I'm--"

Lance hugs her. "This isn't weird, right?" he asks, his breath warming her ear.

Pidge buries her face in his shoulder. "It's not," she tells him. "I actually really like it and...you."

"What was that?" Lance says. "I couldn't hear you."

Pidge pulls away from him, face hot. "You, I like  _you_ , you...downstairs motherfucker."

Lance snorts and laughs, and Pidge joins in, and they both just laugh until they're breathless with it. When they finally stop, the shuttle driver is giving her a dirty look, and she promises Lance, "I'll see you in a few weeks."

"I'm counting the days." He leans down and kisses her cheek, and Pidge pulls him into one last hug.

When she's at the airport, before she boards her plane, she receives a text message.

_Oh I forgot to tell you I like you too <3_

Pidge smiles what feels like the entire flight.

* * *

Matt is the first one to greet her when she exits the gate. He flings his arms around her, even spins her around once, and she laughs, giddy after being away from her family for almost half a year. When he puts her down, he takes her bag and asks, "So anything interesting happen before you left?"

It's almost like he  _knows_. Pidge narrows her eyes at him and says, "Like what?"

"Like...?" He waggles his eyebrows at her.

She sighs and admits, "Lance was my downstairs neighbor blasting music."

Matt stares at her, then laughs. "No way. You've been at war with your crush for months and didn't realize it?"

Pidge flushes and crosses her arms. "Don't remind me."

"Oh, no, this is too funny," Matt says, jostling her with his free arm.

Right, of  _course_  he would never let her live it down.

"So does he still blast music?"

"He stole my headphones," Pidge admits. "Said if I was gonna complain  _with_  them, I didn't  _deserve_ them." She rolls her eyes but still smiles at the memory. "And then I stole his favorite jacket." Which she has stuffed in her bag; she wonders how long it will take Lance to figure out she took it with her.

Matt glances at her, looking skeptical. "Are you  _together_  now?"

Pidge scoffs, "No." Then she frowns and amends, "Maybe a little?"

"Pidge..."

"Which reminds me, I promised I'd call him."

"Now?" Matt stares at her incredulously.

"Please," Pidge says with a snort, "I missed you enough to hold off until later. For your sake," she adds, mockingly bowing her head.

"What a relief," Matt scoffs, but he reaches up and ruffles her hair playfully.

At home, her parents greet her warmly and with her favorite meal, and Pidge doesn't have a chance to call Lance until after dinner, when she closes her bedroom door and dials his number.

"Pidge!" he greets her. "Do you miss me yet?"

"Definitely not," she says, "but I might miss your music."

"No way," Lance says incredulously, but she can hear the smile in his voice. "By the way, did you take my jacket?"

Pidge covers her face and laughs.

* * *

Pidge gets a roommate for her last semester of college.

Lance's lease expires over break, and during one of their many conversations, she idly suggests he move in with her, disregarding how small her apartment is. He agrees without too much convincing on her part, but it's not until she nudges open the door upon first getting back that she recognizes the implication behind what they're doing.

Lance gets back the day after she does, and since his stuff is at Hunk's since he's already lost the use of the downstairs apartment, Pidge visits him there.

"What are we?" she demands before he can do much more than smile at her.

Lance raises an eyebrow at her, confused. "Uh...people?" he says.

While visiting her family, they'd texted on and off daily, and talked on the phone or video chatted at least once every few days. And they never ventured into unfamiliar territory, never spoke of  _them_ , through an unspoken agreement that they would discuss it once they stood face-to-face again.

Which is now.

Hunk is out buying groceries and other last-minute things he needs for the upcoming semester, affording them some privacy. "That's not what I meant," she says. She stuffs her hands into her jacket pockets -  _his_  jacket pockets, since she's wearing the one she 'borrowed' from him.

Lance pats the sofa cushion beside him, and she sits next to him. "What do you want us to be?" he asks.

Pidge pulls her feet onto the couch with her, hands on her ankles. "I've never had a boyfriend before," she tells him, glancing sideways at him.

He shrugs, as if unconcerned. "Well, I've dated"--Pidge snorts, because she  _knows_ \--"but I've never  _lived_  with a girlfriend before." He stares at her. "You're right, this is weird."

"I didn't say that," Pidge backtracks, waving her hands. "I just meant I...want us to know what we're getting into."

"Well, I like you," Lance says like it's the most natural thing in the world, like him simply saying it doesn't make her heart beat faster, "and you like me. So let's...be together? Like...that?"

Pidge stares at him. "Very romantic," she deadpans.

Lance rolls his eyes and says, "I didn't have time to get flowers. Also, do you know how expensive red roses are?"

She flushes until she's just as red. "Who said anything about  _roses_?"

He shrugs sheepishly. "I looked into buying some... Which reminds me." He stands up and disappears into Hunk's second bedroom, and when he comes back he's carrying a tiny box with a blue bow wrapped around it. "Here; consider this a late Christmas present."

Pidge takes it and removes the bow. When she eyes Lance suspiciously, he smiles, and she opens the box.

"What's on this?" she asks, picking up the flash drive.

Lance laughs, but his cheeks turn red. "Every song you interrupted to leave a note on my door."

Pidge puts the box - with both earrings and flash drive - aside and flings her arms around Lance's neck. "Thank you," she says, grinning, "but I, uh, didn't get you anything."

Lance's arms circle her waist, and he says, "That's okay. You're letting me live with you."

"You're paying rent," Pidge points out, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye.

Lance smiles and teases, "Is that negotiable?"

"No."

"Fine," Lance says, rolling his eyes. "You'll just have to make it up to me in some other way."

Pidge raises an eyebrow at him, and she feels a slow smirk tug up her lips. And she says, "I think I can live with that."


	18. Stumble Upon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the situation prompt: Being somewhere you’re not supposed to be  
> And for the sentence prompt: “If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re more stupid than I thought.”
> 
> Vaguely canon-divergent AU (Garrison-era), light angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166904627973/pidgelance-with-2515-is-intriguing-across)
> 
> Lance assigns male pronouns to Pidge because he doesn't know she's a girl yet

Lance didn’t mean to stumble across Pidge breaking into Iverson’s office. It just sort of…happened.

It was an hour after curfew, a time that Lance deemed safe enough to sneak out of the dormitory since it was late enough that the faculty wouldn’t be on the lookout but early enough that no upperclassmen were on patrol. And he was well on his way to a late-night rendezvous with the newest girl of his dreams when he…got lost.

Not that he would ever admit it, of course! She’d asked him to meet her in a corner of campus he wasn’t familiar with despite this being his second year at the Garrison, so was it  _really_  his fault?

Lance grumbled as he opened the door to the unlocked administrative building, hoping to find a worthwhile shortcut somewhere only occupied by custodians at this time of night. And Lance was cool with the custodians; he already knew that they wouldn’t report him for being out after curfew.

But a light shining from a hallway adjacent to Lance’s path still gave him pause. He stared down that hall, both curious and wary; was it a professor or officer pulling a late night at the office?

“Hmm.” He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, glanced over his shoulder, and changed his destination. He would sneak down the hall to see what it was - would he be a hero if he caught a burglar? - and then, if it  _was_  a professor or someone else that wouldn’t hesitate to boot him out of school if they caught him out after curfew, he would sneak away like he never tried to peek.

Lance inhaled sharply and jumped back when he saw that Commander Iverson’s office door was open, light streaming out.  _Oh, fuck no,_  he thought, backing away on quiet feet.

A hissed curse from inside froze him;  _that_  didn’t sound like Iverson.

After reconsidering, Lance took one step closer to the open door, then another, until he stood right by the doorway. He leaned around the door frame and peeked inside.

Someone short and definitely not Commander Iverson stood behind the desk, glaring at the computer’s screen, their small hands hovering over the keyboard. And Lance recognized them.

“ _Pidge?_ ”

Pidge jumped, his face turning up towards him, lit up with wide-eyed alarm, at least until he spotted him. “ _Lance?_ ” he said, stunned. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Lance walked right into the office, standing just inside the doorway, and crossed his arms as he faced his diminutive teammate down. “I could ask you the same question,” he pointed out reasonably.

“I asked first,” Pidge said, not moving from where he stood over Iverson’s computer.

They stood for a long, tense moment, staring each other down and waiting for the other to break first, Lance more curious than anything, and Pidge obviously angry at his interruption of whatever it was he was doing. His heart beat rapidly, waiting for something to happen.

Pidge was strange, and secretive, and incomprehensible, but Lance never thought of him as a rule breaker.

No, no, Lance realized; breaking into  _Commander_  Iverson’s office and  _hacking into his computer_  was so much  _worse_  than simply breaking rules.

It was  _illegal_.

“So what sort of trouble are you in?” Lance asked, disrupting the tense silence.

Pidge exhaled, shoulders sagging, and tore his gaze away from Lance. “That’s none of your business,” he said.

“It is now that I’m here,” he said with a shrug he tried to make halfhearted. But something like fear started to build in him, worried that they’d be caught and Lance would be labeled an accomplice to whatever felony Pidge committed and he would get kicked out of the Garrison and oh dear God what would  _his mother_  think–

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted his panicked internal monologue, and he jerked his head up towards the door. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed with a fearful glance towards Pidge.

He stared back at him with wide eyes, until his gaze darted to the closet in the corner. “Lance, turn off the light,” he whispered.

“What?” Lance said, gaping at him. “Whoever’s outside will already have  _seen_  it!”

“Fine, then–” Pidge hissed wordlessly in frustration and grabbed Lance’s wrist. He opened the closet door and tugged him inside with him before closing it again and plunging them into darkness.

The space was so small and crowded with a hidden filing cabinet that they were forced to tuck themselves into a corner, with them standing chest to chest and Pidge crammed between Lance and the cabinet. It filled with the sound of their too-loud breathing and Lance’s pounding heart.

 _I’m going to get kicked out I’m going to get kicked out I’m going to get kicked out just like_  Keith _._

Pidge nudged him with an elbow, and Lance realized he’d actually  _whimpered_  out loud.

The footsteps halted inside the office, and Commander Iverson’s voice asked, “Why the hell is the light turned on?”

“You must’ve forgotten to turn them off, sir,” a companion suggested.

“Right,” said Iverson, though he sounded skeptical.

Lance held his breath, eyes falling on Pidge, who stared back at him with a matching panicked expression on his face.

“And it’s not like me to leave my computer on either,” Iverson added. “What is this, a virus scan?” The clicking of a keyboard sounded, and the press of a computer mouse, followed by the sound of the computer shutting down.

“Sir, if we can return to the matter at hand, we have information on Captain Shirogane’s whereabouts–”

Pidge gasped, and Lance clapped a hand over his mouth, but Iverson was too busy puzzling over the mystery of the light to have heard.

“Yes, yes,” he said dismissively, interrupting the other, “but I think someone broke into my office.” His footsteps resumed as he made a circuit of the room, and Lance imagined him scanning for anything that might’ve been moved, anything that might indicate the intruder was still there–

A shadow fell across the bit of light streaming into the office from the crack beneath the door.

Lance exchanged a glance with Pidge, who, to his surprise, didn’t resist his grip. He wondered if it was possible for his heart to jump straight out of his body and give them away like that.

“Whoever they are they’re probably gone,” Iverson then said, rapidly turning away from the closet doorway. “Besides, you’re right, Captain Shirogane is more important than…this.” He sounded doubtful though, and proved it when he added, “Put a guard on this hallway starting tomorrow night. I don’t know why we never thought to put one before.”

“Yes, sir,” said the subordinate. “Do you have the file I requested?”

“Yes, here.” A few more quieter words, and two pairs of footsteps left, the light flickering off and a door clicking shut behind them.

Lance and Pidge waited a few more minutes, until Pidge opened the closet door and fought her way past Lance. He leaned against the desk, sagging.

Lance exhaled and crumbled against the wall, trying to control his breathing. “Oh, God, I thought they would find us,” he said.

“But they didn’t.” Pidge recovered quickly, already opening and closing drawers in Iverson’s desk, perhaps trying to figure out which file he gave the aide.

“Okay, talk.” Lance slammed his hands onto the desk, leaning towards Pidge. “What the  _hell_  is going on?”

“I’m not telling you that,” Pidge said without hesitating or even glancing at him.

“Well, you should,” Lance said, “because you owe me.”

This actually startled Pidge into looking up and meeting his eyes, but he looked livid. “I  _what_?”

“Owe me,” Lance claimed with a shrug. “I came here instead of meeting a girl tonight, so–”

“I never  _asked_  you to,” Pidge retorted. “You just  _found_  me here and decided to question me! None of that is  _my_  fault.”

“And yet, if it wasn’t for me, you might’ve been caught.”

Pidge glared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, and crossed his arms. “Fine,” he said. “Thank you for telling me to keep the damn lights turned off. No go away and leave me alone.”

“Not so fast,” Lance said. And, after deciding to try a different tactic, asked, “What is wrong with you, Pidge? I’m your teammate, so would it kill you to, I don’t know,  _act_  like it sometimes?”

“No,” he said, refusing to look at him. “This has nothing to do with our team, or being friends, or–”

“Friends?” Lance interrupted, incredulous and hurt all at once. “Since when have you acted like we’re  _friends_?”

Now Pidge’s eyes snapped up to his face, and for once he actually looked…shamed. He said in a quiet voice, “If you think I don’t feel anything for you, then you’re more stupid than I thought.”

Lance stared at him, stunned by his what sounded like  _honesty_. “Then I guess I’m an idiot,” he said, “or else you have a funny way of showing it.”

Pidge didn’t respond, so Lance left, deciding he’d spent plenty of time out after curfew. He’d apologize to the girl he’d wanted to meet in the morning; Pidge gave him plenty to mull over that evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not gonna lie, this was super fun to write because season 1!Lance is like...that
> 
> ~~and Lance still totally met the girl of his dreams~~


	19. Shield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the situation prompt: After a near-death experience  
> For the sentence prompt: “If I kissed you right now, what would you do?”
> 
> Modern/bodyguard AU, hurt/comfort and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166936257553/situation-10-after-a-near-death-situation)
> 
>  **warning** for non-graphic description of injuries and referenced violence

Lance opened his eyes to the lovely view of a stained tile ceiling with flickering fluorescent lights that were just a little too harsh for him in his exhausted state. What felt like every muscle in his body ached, and when he tried to lift his left arm he noticed it was bound in a cast and elevated on a cushion.

He groaned and struggled to sit up, until someone nearby said, “Whoa there, buddy!”

“Hunk?” His voice croaked with disuse, but he managed to turn his head to see his best friend and cracked a smile. He gave up and sunk further into his pillow as Hunk stood and started to fuss over him. “I’m fine,” he lied. “I’m alive, and I’m fine.”

“Yeah, well,” Hunk said with a rueful smile of his own, “you flew about ten yards so it’s a wonder you haven’t broken every single bone in your body.”

His mind slow to catch up, Lance frowned. “Flew?”

And then he remembered.

Lance bolted upright, hissing at the pain in his left shoulder and ribs as he did. “Pidge,” he said, glancing towards the door. “Where’s Pidge?”

“Lance, calm down before you pull your stitches,” Hunk said, placing a gentle hand on his other shoulder.

“What stitches?” But he shook his head, deciding it didn’t matter. “Where the hell is Pidge? Is she okay? She was–”

“She’s fine,” Hunk calmed him with a reassuring smile. When Lance’s shoulders sagged in relief, Hunk settled back in the chair at his bedside. “She’s a lot better than you; didn’t even black out.”

Lance put his (mostly) uninjured right hand to his forehead. “Oh, good,” he said. “I guess that means I did my job right.”

“Yeah, best bodyguard ever,” Hunk said with a laugh, seeming just as relieved as Lance felt. “Though Pidge seems to disagree…” His gazed turned sharp as he appraised Lance, making him squirm.

“How badly was she hurt?” Lance wondered, worried about the answer.

“A sprained wrist and some lacerations,” Hunk said, waving his hand dismissively. “She’s already been discharged, and you got the worst of it.”

Lance exhaled and grinned, at least until he felt the bruising on his abdomen. He fought a grimace and rested a hand on his stomach. “Who’s with Pidge now?”

“Keith,” Hunk said. “But they’re still here, waiting for you to wake up.”

He couldn’t help the smile that stretched his face. “Where’d she go then?”

“Eh, she looked dead on her feet,” Hunk admitted, “so I suggested she get some coffee.” He shrugged and added, “She feels pretty bad, buddy; I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks it was her fault.”

Lance stared at him, wide-eyed. “Why? It’s not her fault someone wants her dead badly enough to plant a bomb on her car.”

“Maybe not, but–”

A knock interrupted Hunk, and before Lance could call out for the knocker to ‘come in’, the door swung open and admitted Pidge herself.

“Pidge,” he said, flashing her a grin. Relief washed over him, his whole body filling with warmth at the sight of her looking mostly healthy. He tried to raise his hand to wave, but the pain in his shoulder forced him to give up. “You look…”  _Angry, beautiful, fine, worried,_  his mind suggested in turn, but Lance settled on, “…happy to see me.”

And she did, in a way. Her left arm was bound in a plaster cast from elbow to the palm of her hand, and her bangs couldn’t quite conceal a thin red line extending across her forehead, but other than that she appeared unhurt. And the worry in her eyes was at odds with a smile that fought to disrupt her scowl.

It made an unusual picture, but the smile eventually won out.

Pidge approached his bedside so she stood opposite Hunk. She crossed her arms and stared at him. “Don’t do that again,” she said, face stern.

“Well, considering that was literally  _my job_ ”–not that he wouldn’t have if it  _wasn’t_ –“I can’t promise anything.”

Her eyes narrowed.  _If looks could kill,_  Lance thought wryly, and he smiled. “Seriously, Pidge,” he reassured her, “I’m fine. Just a little”–he fought a wince at a pain in his side–“banged up, that’s all.”

Pidge bit her lip, thoughtful as she continued to appraise him, as if she expected him to disappear the minute she took her eyes off of him - which was  _awfully_  hypocritical of her considering how often she’d given him the slip in the last few months. “Hunk,” she said without breaking her and Lance’s staring contest, “do you mind giving us a minute?”

“Nope, not at all,” Hunk said, immediately standing up and moving around Lance’s bed to the door. There, he paused and looked over his shoulder to wink at Lance.

 _I’m fucked,_  Lance realized as the door swung shut behind Hunk.

“So…take a seat,” he said, gesturing towards the newly vacated chair in an effort to dispel the tension that set in.

“I’m good,” Pidge said. “Unlike you, I can stand just fine right now.”

“Hmm, yeah.” Lance wiggled all ten of his toes. “Also, what’s this about  _stitches_?”

Pidge sighed and pointed to his right thigh. When Lance lifted his blankets and the hospital gown to investigate, she remarked, “I guess it’s a good thing you wear a bullet-proof vest.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed cheerfully. He poked at the bandage on his thigh. “They’re the best.” He frowned and asked, “Shrapnel?”

“That’s what the surgeon said. You don’t remember?”

He dropped the blankets and wracked his brain, squinting. “I remember seeing someone messing with your car,” he told her. “They must’ve panicked and activated the bomb too early.” He grimaced at the unwelcome image supplied by his mind, of Pidge lying on the pavement, eyes staring vacantly as blood pooled beneath her head.

Pidge tapped her fingers against her cast. “You got between me and my car before I even knew we were in danger,” she explained.

“What?” Lance teased with a wink. “No ‘thank you’?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, but to his pleasure she smiled. “Thank you, but…” She trailed off, her smile vanishing in favor of a frown. “Lance, this is–”

“Not your fault,” he interrupted with a fierce glare. “Why the  _hell_  would you think that? Besides, I was doing my job. I’m just sorry I won’t be able to do it anymore.” Not in this state, anyway.

Pidge finally rounded the bed and sat in the one chair, propping her arms on his blankets. “I know, but maybe I should’ve foreseen something this… _drastic_.”

“Yeah, your family’s enemies are getting pretty desperate,” Lance conceded. He slumped into his pillows, relaxing despite the aching in his body. “But who knows?” He grinned at her. “This might be the stunt we need to finally nail them.”

“Maybe,” Pidge said, though she sounded skeptical. She toyed with the edge of his blanket.

“Guess you’ll have to make do with Keith and Hunk from now on,” Lance said regretfully. “You’ll miss me though, right?” He meant it as a joke, but his heart sank into his stomach at his own words, because  _he_  would miss  _her_.

Pidge didn’t reply immediately, which only caused Lance’s imagination to run wild, wondering what could possibly be going through her head, at least until she asked, “If I kissed you right now, what would you do?”

Lance’s mind ground to a stunned halt as he stared at her, and she met his gaze levelly, a hint of pink in her cheeks the only sign of embarrassment or self-consciousness. “Is it like a  _gratitude_  thing?” he said, hoping his voice didn’t squeak.

Pidge frowned at him. “Are you serious?” she said. “You really think I’d want to kiss you because of  _that_?”

“That depends,” Lance quipped. “Are you talking about a kiss on the cheek or…somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else,” Pidge said without hesitation.

He smiled, feeling his own face flush. “On the forehead then?” he teased.

“Oh for the love of–” Pidge cut herself off with a growl and leaned down to press her lips against his.

Lance kissed her back, reaching up with his  _less_  injured hand to cup her jaw. She pulled back all too soon, though her forehead still rested against his. He smiled and said, “Does that answer your question?”

Pidge grinned. “Yes,” she said. “It even proves my hypothesis.”

Lance laughed. “God, you’re such a nerd,” he said, hearing the fondness in his own voice as he spoke. He stroked her cheek, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin under his fingertips, and added, “And what hypothesis is that?”

“That you would do… _that_.”

“Hmm.” Lance pulled away enough that he could look her in the eye without going cross-eyed. “Wasn’t it you that told me that you should repeat experiments to validate them?”

Pidge snorted, but she got the hint and kissed him again. This time when they parted she quipped, “Who’s the nerd now?”

“Still you,” he said, pulling her back in for another kiss.


	20. Fix It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "Please don't leave me alone."
> 
> Canonverse (between episodes 4x01 and 4x02), fluff with very light angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167262975193/i-looked-through-a-prompt-list-and-found-please)

Lance stared at the bits of metal and plastic in his hand, noting with dismay the exposed wires and the fraying coating near the end. “Pidge is going to kill me,” he muttered mournfully to the broken green headphones. And despite being surrounded by advanced alien technology for the last year, he couldn’t even  _begin_  to figure out how to fix them.

“They’re just headphones,” he said to Red, who stared silently down at him. “They’re replaceable, probably.” Brightening, he realized, “I’m sure I can ask Coran or the princess if they have a substitute on the Castle, and  _maybe_  Hunk can help me find a way to make them…compatible.”

Red’s skepticism bled through their connection, and Lance crossed his arms and turned his back to the Lion. “Oh, what do  _you_  know?” he said. “You’re just a…whatever you are!”

Skepticism turned into amusement, and an image of the same headphones, whole and without a single scratch, entered Lance’s mind. “I can’t fix these,” he told him doubtfully.

Red sent him a vibrant impression of  _color_ , of yellow and orange, and Lance rolled his eyes. “Look, Pidge is the best with electronics in the Castle,” he reminded him, “so I’m not sure what Hunk and Coran can do for me.” When Red rumbled irritably at him, he jumped back and said, “All right, all right! Wow, you’re rude. Blue would never have–”

Red - remarkably jealous for a machine, albeit a sentient one - crouched and growled at him. Lance laughed and said, “Okay, look.” He stepped towards the hangar entrance. “I’m leaving to talk to Hunk  _right now_. See?” He took another step, and another, and once he stood poised to exit, he glanced over his shoulder to see Red sitting upright again, satisfaction replacing any lingering displeasure.

Objective unlocked, Lance went in search of Hunk first, his feet steering him towards the kitchen since that was where he usually spent his time when they had some to spare, and as expected Hunk stood at the counter, wearing an apron and staring into a mixing bowl as if it personally offended his mother.

“Uh, Hunk?” Lance prompted, startling Hunk out of his staring contest with what looked like pink cake batter.

“Hey Lance,” Hunk said. He used a rubber spatula - apparently those were cross-planetary - to scoop a bit of batter out of the bowl and held it out to him. “Do you mind giving it a taste? I’m trying to figure out a way to make a substitute for baking chocolate.”

Lance narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the glob of pink. “Doesn’t baking chocolate come in a block?” he said.

“Yes,” Hunk said, sighing, “but once I have something that  _tastes_  like chocolate I can do something about the texture.” He prodded the spatula towards him. “Please?”

“Uh…okay.” Lance took the spatula, but before he licked at the batter, he smirked and said, “I’ll taste it and tell you what I think on one condition.”

“Oh, no,” Hunk said, shaking his head. “Last time we did an exchange like this I got stuck cleaning up your half of the room before inspections for almost two months.”

“Come on, Hunk!” Lance complained. He resisted the urge to gesture with the spatula and inadvertently spray the kitchen with pink gunk. “Please, do a guy a solid! I promise it’ll be something you might even  _enjoy_. And”–he waggled his eyebrows at Hunk, hopeful–“you’ll help out Pidge too.”

Hunk crossed his arms. “Did she put you up to this?”

“Aha, funny you should ask.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the broken headphones. “How mad do you think she’ll be?”

Hunk raised an eyebrow at him, looking between his face and the headphones. “You really want the answer to that question?”

“Rip it off like a Band-Aid,” Lance goaded him.

“Hmm. I’ll tell you if you taste my chocolate substitute.”

“Damn, you drive a hard bargain,” Lance complained, but he finally tasted the spatula. “Huh,” he said, surprised - though in retrospect, he really shouldn’t be since this was  _Hunk_. “This is actually…close. Maybe a little  _sweet_  for baking chocolate, but good.” He wrinkled his nose then. “I can’t say I like the texture though.”

Hunk frowned and took the spatula back. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, about Pidge’s headphones–”

“Yes?” Lance leaned towards him eagerly.

“The best I can say is better you than me.”

“ _Very_  helpful, Hunk.” In petty revenge, Lance stuck his entire hand into the mixing bowl until it was submerged in the pink batter.

Hunk tackled him.

* * *

 

“Oh, thanks a lot, Hunk,” Lance grumbled, staring at Pidge’s broken headphones - now spattered in pastel pink faux chocolate  _gore_.

Hunk stood beside him, now looking worried rather than indignant. “You should’ve thought of that before you stuck your grubby hand into  _food_.”

“I wash my hands! And you let me  _lick batter off a spatula_!”

“I wasn’t planning on using it again after that,” Hunk retorted reasonably. Before Lance could argue anymore, he grabbed a washcloth and started dabbing at the spots of pink. “Look, the damage from the batter is only superficial. Besides, we have something  _else_  to worry about.”

“Pidge’s reaction?”

“Pidge’s reaction.”

Lance sighed and rested his hands on his hips. “So  _can_  you fix them? Or should I ask Coran? And why can’t we just…make her a substitute, like with you and chocolate?”

“Uh, well…” Hunk clasped his hands together like he always did when especially anxious.

Dread sat like a stone in Lance’s stomach. “Oh, no, please don’t tell me this is like a family heirloom.”

“Um, actually, it was a gift from her brother, so it…kind of is?”

“Quiznak,” Lance said, burying his face in his hands. “She  _is_  going to kill me.”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Hunk tried to comfort him, patting him on the back. “Like I said, it’s better that it was you.”

“I’m sure that’s a great comfort to you, Hunk,” he said tersely, “but that  _really_  doesn’t make  _me_  feel any better.”

“It should though!” Hunk said with a sly smile that didn’t suit the situation at all. “You’re the only one she doesn’t mind using her headphones.”

“That’s because I stole them,” he confessed, eyes downcast.

Hunk stared at him, wide-eyed. “You did?”

“Hey!” Lance interjected defensively. “I only take them when I can’t sleep, and when I wake up I put them back.”

“Oh, wow, I’ve read this all wrong,” Hunk said with a frown.

“Read  _what_?” Lance asked him suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing!” he hedged, but from the nonchalance he tried too hard to fake, Lance could tell he was lying. Before he could call him on it though, Hunk said, “But yeah, she’s definitely going to kill you.”

“Then help me!” Lance insisted. “You’re better with this science stuff than I am. So help me, Hunk, you’re my only hope!” To emphasize his point, he grabbed Hunk’s shoulders and shook him.

Hunk took hold of his wrists and pried his hands away. “I know you’re trying to appeal to my love of twentieth century science fantasy,” he said, “but that won’t get Pidge’s headphones fixed any faster.”

“So is that a yes?” Lance asked hopefully.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “I’m a little offended you doubted me, Lance.”

Lance mockingly put a hand to his chest, but his heart beat quite rapidly under his palm so perhaps it wasn’t so mocking after all. “You had me going for a tic there, buddy.”

“Well, it may still end up being a lost cause,” Hunk admitted as he scrutinized the pink-spotted broken green headphones lying on the kitchen counter. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

* * *

 

Two vargas later, they enlisted Coran in their mission.

“Electronics are not my area of expertise,” Coran told them, frowning at the - now no longer flecked with pink - broken green headphones he held. He still examined them, holding them close to his face. “I am passable with engines, perhaps–”

 _“More_  than passable,“ Hunk muttered as an aside to Lance.

”–but not electronics. Especially not ones as…primitive as these.“

Lance exchanged a glance with Hunk, who didn’t appear offended at the indirect insult. But he shrugged, frowning. "So you  _can’t_  help us?” he asked Coran.

“Or maybe a substitute would be…helpful?” Hunk also suggested.

“Yeah!” Lance agreed, nodding. “If there’s a substitute for small personal  _speakers_  aboard the Castle, then you can refit them like we did for the gaming console Pidge and I bought!”

“You didn’t do anything to help with that, Lance,” Hunk pointed out.

Lance grumbled, “I thanked you and made you a milkshake.”

“It  _was_  a good milkshake,” Hunk conceded with a nod.

“Truly delectable,” Coran agreed, thumbing his mustache.

“So… _do_  you have speakers we can alter?” Lance wondered hopefully.

“Yes, I think I can arrange something,” Coran said. “I suppose I’ll use these”–he held up Pidge’s headphones–“as a model. Come along, Number Two.”

“I’ll make milkshakes!” Lance said, walking in the direction of Kaltenecker’s enclosure while Hunk followed Coran. Once their footsteps faded, he breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

Maybe the substitute wouldn’t be perfect - maybe Pidge would be upset that she could no longer use the headphones from Earth - but maybe what they built for her would be better than nothing.

He was so deep in thought, fantasizing on how, exactly, he would present his new invention to Pidge - and of course he would assign Coran and Hunk due credit,  _of course_  - he didn’t notice that he’d run headlong into someone.

“Ah, Lance!” Pidge cried, grabbing onto his sleeve to avoid toppling backwards. “Watch where you’re going!”

“Why aren’t you watching where  _you’re_  going?” he retorted, fingers curling around her slim arm to keep them both upright.

Pidge regained her balance with minimal flailing, and he let go, stepping away. For a few tics, he scrambled for some excuse to make, as if she’d already accused him of theft and sabotage, until he noticed the expression on her face.

“Pidge, are you okay?” he asked, leaning towards her.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said. She turned her face away from him, clutching her computer close to her chest, but he still caught sight of her distressed, downcast eyes.

Lance glanced over his shoulder in the direction Pidge was heading. “Are you going to the Green Lion’s hangar?” he asked.

Pidge nodded, eyes flicking up to his face and then back down. She made to step around him but he slid sideways, blocking her way. She tried again, on the opposite side, but he followed. “ _Lance_ ,” she hissed, scowling.

He was so relieved by her change in demeanor that he almost didn’t mind the irritation directed at him. “What’s wrong?” He raised an eyebrow at her and smiled what he thought his most  _winning_ smile.

Pidge blinked at him. “I’m fine,” she said, “like I already told you. And unlike  _some people_ , I use my free time to be  _productive_.” She tapped her fingernails against her computer pointedly.

Lance frowned at her. “Oh,  _very_  funny, Pidge,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I’m  _plenty_  productive. In fact, I’m going to make milkshakes for  _other_  people right now! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m sure Kaltenecker - the cow we adopted  _together_ \- is dying to be milked.” Annoyed, he started towards the enclosure, until he reconsidered and asked, “Do you want one?”

“One what?”

“A milkshake.” He shot a glance at her from over his shoulder. “I’ll bring it to the hangar, since you’re so  _busy_.” Along with whatever Coran and Hunk scrambled to put together as headphones, he hoped.

She stared at him for a few silent tics, a small frown on her face that Lance longed to wipe away in some way, even if she  _had_  just insulted him, which… “I’m sorry,” she said.

He gaped at her. “What?”

Pidge looked at the floor between their feet. “It’s not much of an excuse, but I just…I’m  _stressed_.” She rubbed her face. “You don’t deserve what I said, even if you are a…goofball.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “You were doing so well,” he teased, but Pidge’s apology made something  _warm_  bloom in his chest, and he couldn’t help smiling at her. “So  _do_  you want a milkshake?”

She returned his smile. “Sure,” she said, “so long as it doesn’t have Hunk’s chocolate substitute in it.”

“Ah, he made you try it too?”

Pidge made a disgusted face. “Yeah. The texture was  _awful_.”

“I know, right?” Lance laughed, then said, “Well, I’m off to relieve Kaltenecker of  _her_  stress.”

“And I’m off to…my Lion’s hangar,” said Pidge, turning to go. When she was almost halfway down the hall, she glanced back to look at him, smiling, but a tic later her eyes widened comically and red bloomed on her cheeks, as if she hadn’t still expected him to be there.

Lance waved, wondering why his own face felt so warm, and walked in the other direction.

* * *

 

“It was easier than we thought,” Hunk admitted when he came to the kitchen later, holding up a set of speakers arranged to look similar to a pair of headphones from Earth.

Except with a few more small attachments and cables to compensate for the differences in technology. But all in all, even Lance’s unpracticed eye conceded that the solution was surprisingly elegant and convenient.

“Wow,” he said, grinning when Hunk put the new headphones in his hands. “You even found  _green_  ones?”

“Actually, we convinced the mice to paint them.” Hunk smiled and added, “We even recycled some parts from the broken headphones, so Pidge still has a piece of her family here, huh?”

Lance traced the Voltron ‘V’ painted onto the earpiece in white. “Yeah,” he said, “but those are some creative mice.”

“It’s kinda freaky how smart they are.”

“Must come from sharing a telepathic bond with Princess Allura,” Lance mused. He tested the headphones by sliding them over his head so that they fit snugly over his ears. “Okay, say something,” he told Hunk.

“What should I say?” Hunk asked, eyebrow raised in bemusement, and voice muffled by the headphones.

“Perfect,” Lance said, offering him a thumb’s up as he took the headphones off. “These are perfect. Thanks, Hunk. And…” He waved his arm with a flourish towards the glasses on the kitchen counter. “Your reward awaits.”

Hunk snorted but took two of the milkshakes. “I suppose you’re taking those to Pidge now?”

“Yep,” said Lance, his levity evaporating. He sighed. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Honestly, Lance, you shouldn’t be worried. Pidge might get mad, but she’ll forgive you. They’re just headphones.”

“Yeah, but they’re from her  _brother_ ,” Lance said with a frown.

“She’ll find him soon though,” Hunk said brightly. “Besides, it’s  _you_.”

“I’m still not sure what you mean by that.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Well, if you can’t figure it out, I won’t tell you.”

“Why the quiznak not?” Lance whined, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Not for me to say.”

“But–”

“La la la, I can’t hear you!” Hunk said, stalking out of the kitchen with two milkshake glasses in his hands.

“How can’t you hear me when I’m the one with noise-cancelling headphones?” Lance retorted, but by then Hunk had already disappeared out the door, leaving him to puzzle over his words.

Which were a problem for another time, Lance decided as he carefully stuffed the new headphones into his pocket and grabbed the other two milkshakes from the counter.

(Surely Pidge would forgive him quickly enough that he could enjoy a milkshake  _with_  her.  _Surely._ )

Pidge sat at the desk she’d set up in the Green Lion’s hangar, poring over something on her computer screen, when Lance walked in. She didn’t look up at the sound of his approach, at least not until he stood beside her desk.

“One milkshake for the lady,” he said, smiling and sliding one of the glasses across the desk towards her.

“Thanks,” she said. She took it and sipped from the straw, her attention not quite faltering from her computer.

A flicker of irritation that Pidge was  _ignoring_  him made him roll his eyes and push aside some electronic parts to clear enough space on the desk for him to sit. He paid no mind to her indignant  _hey!_ , and remembered the quickest way he was sure to earn her attention.

“I…have a confession to make,” Lance started, heart pounding fast as he set his milkshake on the desk.

Pidge sat up straight, her eyes going as wide as saucers at his words. “What?” she said.

“I kind of broke your headphones.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the new - and improved - headphones. “And then I convinced Hunk and Coran to make a new pair.” He smiled at her tentatively. “And even the mice painted them green. See?” He pointed to the Voltron 'V’ on the side.

Her shoulders slumped, as if with either relief or disappointment, but her eyes were still wide and startled as she reached for the headphones. He gave them to her, and she examined them more closely, her eyes lingering on the attachments that made them compatible with a music player from Earth. “I…thank you,” she said. “Tell Hunk and Coran I said thank you.”

“Tell them yourself?” Lance suggested with a shrug, relieved by her calm acceptance.

Pidge nodded and said, “I will next time I see them.” Then she shot him an incomprehensible look.

“And I guess I’m…sorry too,” he said, grinning ruefully. He rubbed the back of his neck and added, “That’s what I get for stealing them from you all the time.”

“I know,” she said. “I noticed.”

Lance froze, gaping at her. “You  _noticed_?” he said. “How?”

Pidge snorted, setting the new headphones aside as she regarded him. “You’re not as subtle as you think, Lance,” she pointed out.

“I'm  _perfectly_  subtle,  _thank you very much_!”

“Please,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes, “you wouldn’t know  _subtle_  if it danced naked in front of you.”

“I absolutely  _would_!”

“Wanna bet?” Pidge said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Absolutely!”

Pidge scrutinized him for a moment. “Why did you think I care so much about those headphones?” she asked.

“What does that have to do with being subtle?” Lance asked, confused.

“Just answer the question, Lance,” she said, sighing.

“They were a gift from your brother, right?” He started to second-guess himself - or Hunk, who’d informed him of this particular fact - until Pidge nodded.

“Yeah, but, well, I’m finding him soon, aren’t I?” She smiled, if a little tremulously. “I have the information I need to leave  _tomorrow_  if I can, Lance.”

“That’s…great,” Lance said, hating the way dread sat heavily in his stomach. “Alone?”

She nodded. “It’s better that way.” She didn’t look at him when she said it, instead occupying herself with playing with the straw in her milkshake.

“Oh, well, I’ll…leave you to finish up your preparations,” he decided. He turned to go, but then a gentle pressure on his wrist stopped him.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Pidge said, meeting his eyes when he looked over his shoulder at her. “I, uh, I just…there’s a lot going on, and I’m leaving soon, and–”

“I understand,” Lance said. He sat on the floor beside Pidge’s chair and leaned against her desk.

To his surprise, she slipped her hand into his and squeezed his fingers. “Thank you, Lance,” she said. “And I know you’ll get bored if you’re just sitting there–”

“With you?” Lance quipped with a laugh. “No way.”

A flush filled her cheeks again.  _Amazing,_  he thought as she rolled her eyes and wondered, “Do you want to borrow my new headphones or not?”

Lance grinned and replied, “I would love to.”


	21. If Cinderella Wore Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'nonsexual intimacy' prompt: finding the other wearing their clothes
> 
> Canon compliant, not quite on-prompt, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167440606303/plance)
> 
> Schedule an appointment with your dentist because you're about to get some cavities
> 
> (also i'm aware that's a silly title but that's half the fun)

 

Pidge was tired of “losing” her socks.

If the Green Lion shrunk to the size of a housecat, she would suspect  _her_  of stealing and hiding them, and if Allura’s mice were bigger and more prone to  _overt_ mischief, they would be likely culprits. But instead, Pidge resorted to scrutinizing her teammates as suspects, though first she needed to know if this was a serial crime.

“So…” Pidge said one – relative – day to Keith when he took a break from training. “Got all of your socks?”

Keith blinked at her as he dismissed his bayard. “Not with me,” he said.

“I meant are you missing any?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him suspiciously.

(Not that Keith was capable of pulling a prank, at least not without someone else to encourage or  _provoke_ him.)

“I don’t think so,” he told her. “Why?”

“Because someone’s been taking mine,” Pidge complained, “and I need to find out who.”

She ruled Coran out quickly, since, as goofy as he sometimes seemed, she doubted he went around stealing anyone else’s socks as a bizarre prank, or that any of the others would dare to victimize him and steal  _his_ socks.

“How many pairs of socks do you have?” she asked Hunk once, after breakfast and before training.

Hunk glanced sideways at her, a confused twist to his eyebrows. “One for every day of the week,” he said. Then he chuckled. “Assuming a seven-day week.” And he frowned. “Assuming a twenty-four-hour day.”

“And a sixty-minute hour?” Pidge suggested, amused.

“Yeah, exactly!”

Well, she decided Hunk was a bust:  neither a victim, and, like Keith, unlikely to be a perpetrator unless he had a partner in crime. And since Shiro and Allura could be eliminated – with the exception of Keith, they all tended to walk in awe and in fear of both of them – Pidge narrowed her focus onto Lance.

“Those new socks?” Pidge asked Lance once when he lounged in the common room, entirely barefoot except for a pair of striped blue-and-white socks.

Lance wiggled his toes. “Yes,” he said, grinning. “I got them from the space mall.”

Pidge slid a little closer. “Got socks from anywhere else?”

He met her eyes. “Earth?”

She rolled her eyes. “From any _one_  else?” she said, smiling hopefully at him.

His eyes were wide with innocent confusion when he said, “I think I have a pair that was a gift from my nephew?”

Pidge crossed her arms, frustrated. Of  _course_ Lance would be immune to her line of questioning; then again, her mission at the Garrison ran into many a dead end because she didn’t know how to enact an effective interrogation. So perhaps it was  _her_  technique that required refining.

Or maybe she needed to change her tactics.

* * *

 

Pidge made enough of a study of her teammates’ habits that she knew exactly when and where to expect them. Which meant she did not fear Lance walking in on her snooping in his room.

She pushed aside any guilt she might’ve felt by reminding herself that this was an investigation and Lance was her primary suspect in a crime for which  _she_ was the wronged party. So  _perfectly_ all right.

(She contemplated asking Allura if she might have a ‘warrant’, at least until she realized that would lead to a whole  _other_ line of questioning that Pidge, unpracticed interrogator and interrogation  _subject_  that she was, was not  _at all_ prepared for.)

That still didn’t stop her from feeling like she was being watched…or that the mice lurked in the vents, reporting on her every move to the very princess she should’ve asked for a quiznaking warrant.

Lance’s room was surprisingly neat, though the mess of electronics and wires – also rightfully  _hers_ , or at the very least  _theirs_ – along one wall made a tantalizing distraction.  _Perhaps one round—no, I’m here for a reason!_

Pidge set to searching: in the drawer under the bed, inside the closet, in the bedside table, in the bathroom cabinets. She finally found his selection of socks in a makeshift drawer in the closet, stuffed away in the same space as a spare set of pajamas.

Not a single pair resembled one of hers.

“What the quiznak,” she muttered. Could Lance  _not_ be the culprit? Could it be one of the others after all and she was too hasty in her dismissal of them?

With a sigh, Pidge backed out of Lance’s room after making sure everything was in its rightful place – except for that gaming system, obviously. She focused so much on making sure no one followed her that she bumped straight into the very person she most wanted to avoid.

“Lance?” she said. She stepped backwards, barely recovering her balance as she stared at him in shock. It was approximately halfway through the daytime cycle, and a varga until lunch, which he usually spent hanging out with Hunk either in the kitchen or down in the Yellow Lion’s hangar, and therefore nowhere near the residential hallway.

And therefore nowhere near  _her_.

But what really gave her pause was Lance’s wide-eyed stare, like  _he_ was caught in the middle of pulling some…prank. “Pidge?” he said, smiling so quickly she thought she imagined his moment of unguarded surprise. “What’re you doing out of your den?”

“My den?” she asked, blinking at him.

“Yeah, your den.” He waved a hand. “Your lab?”

“Oh!” she said, finally understanding. “I, uh, decided to take a break. And nap.”

Lance raised a skeptical eyebrow at her. “You?” he said. “ _Napping_?” He smirked. “I don’t believe you.” He leaned towards her, close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her face. “You need Shiro to threaten to lock you in your room before you take a  _nap_.”

Pidge felt a sly, involuntary smile curl her lips. “All right, fine,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I could ask you the same question?”

To her surprise and awe, Lance flushed, and he rapidly leaned away from her. “Maybe  _I_ wanted a nap?”

“Try again.” Her smile didn’t falter as the pieces started to connect in her head.

“Then here’s the deal,” said Lance thoughtfully. “I won’t ask if you don’t.”

Pidge forced her expression into something flatter and more neutral. “Fine,” she said, all while thinking  _gotcha_.

They shook on it.

* * *

 

Pidge gave Lance some time to make his devious plans, whatever they were, since she had yet to solve the mystery of where the quiznak her missing socks were. Not that it stopped her from staring at him with narrowed eyes during meals, especially because she enjoyed unnerving him.

(Since when could  _she_ manage to fluster him? Of course she had to take advantage! Who knew how long it would last?)

Things came to a strange sort of stalemate when Pidge woke up early a few day cycles after her excursion into Lance’s room. She brushed her teeth and dressed while still half-asleep, and despite knowing that all her socks had disappeared, she was absentminded enough to open her sock drawer.

The sight that met her eyes woke her like nothing short of a gong could.

“What. The.  _Quiznak_.”

Colorful and cartoony socks she had never seen filled the drawer in different fabrics. Some thick and fuzzy like slippers, others smooth and thin like dress socks. She grabbed a pair at random and pulled the individuals apart to see they were blue with red Superman symbols, and another pair was black with green  alien heads. All the socks were unfamiliar, she discovered as she sifted through them, and all the socks seemed marked with something that distinctly made them of  _Earth_.

A wonderful, pleasant warmth filled Pidge’s chest as she selected and pulled on a green pair striped in white  _zeros_ and  _ones_ , of all things. She wiggled her toes inside them, grinning and wondering what she did to deserve this.

She could forgive Lance for stealing all her socks if  _this_ was the outcome.

“Some prank,” she muttered.

She didn’t bother putting on shoes when she left her room and headed straight to the dining room for breakfast. As usual, she was the last one there – thanks to her rotten sleeping schedule – but a seat next to Lance remained empty.

“Is this taken?” she asked him with a smile.

“Yeah, by you,” he replied, his eyes flicking down to her feet before returning to her face.

Pidge sat in the chair and, heedless of their audience, she hugged him from the side, her arms slipping under his as she pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “Thank you,” she said, voice low so that no one – except perhaps the mice – could hear her. “How did you know I like weird socks?”

“I remembered you getting a demerit for those snazzy Green Lantern socks at the Garrison,” he replied just as softly. One arm wrapped around her, pulling her just a bit closer. “Also, I owe you for letting me borrow your headphones all the time.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and pulled away. “Okay, first of all, I didn’t  _let_ you borrow them,” she said, scowling. “You  _stole_ them.”

“Semantics,” Lance said with a hand wave.

“Oh, not this again,” Hunk groaned.

“And second of all—”

Everyone else suddenly decided they had somewhere else to be and cleared out of the dining room, thanking Hunk for the meal and mumbling something about training or planning or reading.

Which left Pidge alone with Lance, which, judging from the soft smile on his face, was perfect for both of them.


	22. Wardrobe Malfunction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'nonsexual intimacy' prompt: one character adjusting the other's jewelry/neck tie/etc.
> 
> Canon compliant (probably), fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167441498068/pidgance-one-character-adjusting-the-others)

“We are literally in outer space,” Lance said.

“We are,” agreed Pidge.

“We are literally in outer space,” Lance whined, “and I  _still_ have to wear a quiznaking tie to a fancy party.” He stared at the strip of silky dark blue fabric in his hands. At home, he never even wore ties to church, and his mother only expected him to wear one to weddings. And yet here he stood,  _in outer space_ , where alien cultures dressed quite unlike anything he ever saw on Earth…and he still had to wear a tie.

“I don’t even know how to  _tie_ one,” he complained. “My dad or older brother always helped me.”

“Poor baby,” Pidge said with a smirk. “How awful and  _cruel_ of Shiro to suggest we dress to represent our  _own_ culture.”

“Well, not all of Earth even wears suits,” Lance pointed out petulantly. “I don’t see Shiro offering to wear a kimono.” He crossed his arms.

Pidge, already prepped, leaned against his closed bedroom door, looking way too beautiful in her ankle-length green dress as she waited for him. She even wore a little makeup, either borrowed from or outright gifted by Allura, and her hair was coiled up into a bulky brown bun with a few strands left loose around her face, probably on purpose.

“Just try your best,” Pidge suggested, watching him stare into the mirror. “And if you have enough trouble I’ll help you out.”

Surprised, he tore his gaze from his admittedly  _dashing_ reflection to look at her. “You can?” he said. “Since when?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I did pretend to be a boy for a year,” she said. “Remember?”

Despite the time that passed, Lance still felt a wave of residual embarrassment at that reminder, but he still managed a laugh. “Right,” he said. “Was it just a skill you thought you might need?”

“Yeah,” Pidge admitted. She approached him, standing at the same height as usual since she’d opted for flat-soled shoes rather than high heels.

(Something that gratified Lance, since he loved how much  _shorter_ than him she was entirely too much.)

Pidge took the tie from his hands and looped it around his neck. “Bend down a little,” she said.

“With pleasure,” said Lance. He leaned forward enough that Pidge could arrange the tie without having to stand on her toes, enough that he could see every single shade of brown in her eyes and admire her frown of concentration.

“I mean,” he said while she slid the fabric under the collar of his shirt, “I look pretty quiznaking  _good_ in a tie, of course—”

“Of course.”

“—but they’re not exactly… _comfortable._ ”

“Well, as they say,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes as she deftly tied it into a familiar shape, “form over function.”

“Says the girl that would rather sit around in shorts and a t-shirt,” Lance retorted.

Pidge smirked. “I said that’s what  _they_ say,” she said, “not what  _I_ say.” She hummed then, sliding the end of the tie through the knot.

“And what do you say?” Lance asked when, despite being finished, she maintained a firm grip on the tie, keeping their faces close together.

“I say we’re Defenders of the Universe and we should go to parties in our armor,” Pidge said.

“Sure,” Lance said, growing impatient, “but are you gonna let me go or kiss me? Because—”

Pidge shut him up when she pressed her lips to his in a soft but lingering kiss. “Anyway,” she said after she pulled back, sounding quite calm despite the flush in her cheeks, “I kind of like the tie.” She finally let him go, and Lance straightened.

“Why’s that?” he asked.

“Because if you were wearing armor, I wouldn’t be able to do this.” She tugged him down by his tie again.

Lance went gladly.

This time when they parted they were both significantly more breathless, and at a knock on the door, they turned to go, but not before Pidge caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

She sighed and complained, “You smudged my lipstick.”

Lance reached up and touched his lips, glancing down with mild surprise and delight when his fingertip came away red. “Now  _this_ ,” he said with a grin and a gesture of his hand, “I can do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then Lance helped Pidge reapply her lipstick
> 
> And Shiro probably totally wore a kimono (but where he got it from is anyone's guess)
> 
> And also with awesomely sweet [fanart](http://mitzpitz09.tumblr.com/post/167459344486/never-forget-to-water-your-plance-inspired-by-the) by [mitzpitz09](http://mitzpitz09.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And also [thissssss](https://twitter.com/HavingAbadtom/status/930407198613684225) on Twitter!!!!!!


	23. Dancing with Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'nonsexual intimacy' prompts: slow dancing
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff and light angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167469195028/you-complete-your-prompts-so-much-quicker-than-i)

 

Pidge doesn’t like listening to music without headphones. In fact, on a list of all her “dislikes”, it might rank somewhere in between peanuts and an outdated anti-virus software. But because it’s Lance, and Lance insists that they  _both_ listen to the same music while they work, she  _tolerates_ it.

Lance’s taste in music is nothing if not eclectic; a catchy pop tune that was popular on the radio just before they left Earth can follow a showtune from the late twentieth century. Somehow his diverse music library manages to overlap with her father’s  _and_ with her mother’s, and her parents’ tastes are so disparate she’d often wondered how they never fought for control over the car radio on long road trips.

At least the music that fills the Green Lion’s hangar doesn’t distract her much, since Lance is polite and tasteful enough to select a playlist with songs a little less catchy and a little more sedate this time, since she complained the last, including instrumentals and classical music that wouldn’t be out of place in her old piano teacher’s collection.

Pidge combs through the data her Galra-locating software keeps finding, searching for somewhere that requires more immediate attention than the others, while Lance lies on the floor nearby, holding a tablet over his head and reading reports as a favor for Coran. Except for the music and the undercurrent of the Castle’s mechanisms, it’s quiet.

Until Lance starts humming “Flight of the Bumblebee”.

Pidge drops her hands into her lap and lets him have this; at least the song is short, so then he’ll stop, right?

Except he doesn’t, because he hums the  _next_ tune too, and Pidge wonders how the quiznak he can read and  _hum_ at the same time. She taps her fingertips against her desk’s surface and glances over her shoulder at Lance to see that he actually looks half-asleep, eyes lidded and tablet closer to his face than it was moments ago.

“I’m sure Coran would forgive you if you wanted to take a nap,” Pidge says, trying for nonchalant. Because if Lance leaves and takes a nap, he’ll take his music with him, and then she’ll have the near-silence she prefers to work with.

“Allura wouldn’t,” Lance says. He sits up though, dropping the tablet into his lap and rubbing his face with both hands.

Pidge frowns and averts her eyes from him, trying to return her attention to her own work to distract herself from the unwitting jealousy that always sits just under the surface, waiting to be unleashed in some poorly timed outburst.

(She lives in fear of accidentally letting it slip out one day, either during the climax of some battle while fearing for their lives or during a quieter moment, like when they sit in the dark playing video games in his room.)

The song changes to a slow song with lyrics in a language Pidge doesn’t recognize, and that’s enough to force her mind back on task.

“Huh,” Lance says, interrupting her concentration when the next song starts. “That other playlist was shorter than I thought.”

Pidge only shrugs in response, since if she opens her mouth she might  _snap_ at him in her rising irritation.

“Good songs though,” Lance adds, as if she’d given him some verbal answer, and then he starts  _singing_.

Thankfully, he keeps his voice low, but Pidge is frustrated enough that she drops her forehead onto the desk surface and thinks,  _Why me? Why_ him _?_

His singing voice is passable, decent, nothing to write home about, but he at least hits all the notes, and it’s impressive enough to someone with a musical background but without any  _vocal_ experience, and she finds herself wondering if he’d ever taken lessons. Or maybe he just liked karaoke, or singing was always a hobby, or if he sings in the shower, or—

Dangerous thoughts. Pidge lifts her head and stares at her computer screen, but the combined Altean and Galra scripts look even more incomprehensible than usual.

Pidge recognizes the next song, and it’s enough to make her groan.

 _I can see what’s happening!_  
_And they don’t have a clue._  
_They’ll fall in love, and here’s the bottom line:_  
_Our trio’s down to two._

“Hey, I love this song!” Lance exclaims. He jumps to his feet and approaches her desk, setting the tablet aside. “May I have this dance?” He holds out his hand to her and smiles.

Pidge is too stunned to offer more than a token protest of  _hey!_ as he grabs her wrist and drags her out of her chair. She goes willingly, if a little bemusedly, and raises an expectant eyebrow at him when he pauses the song.

“What?” she asks.

Lance stands across from her. “What  _what_ , Pidge?” he retorts. His hands rest on her hips, or try to.

Pidge jumps back. “What’re you doing?” she demands.

“You’ve never slow danced before?” Lance wonders. And oh, there it is, that little  _wrinkle_ on his forehead that Pidge calls  _self-doubt_. But it disappears as quickly as it came, and he smirks easily. “No problem.  _I_ can teach you!”

“I’ve seen it in movies,” Pidge mutters, crossing her arms. “It doesn’t look that hard. You just have to sway.”

“But it’s so much  _more_ than that!” Lance says, sounding indignant. “Here.”

Reluctantly – or, well, she  _wishes_ she can say she’s reluctant – she uncrosses her arms and steps back into his reach. He puts his hands on her hips again, and this time she doesn’t fly away from him, but he looks down at her expectantly.

Pidge raises her arms and sighs. “Around your neck or on your shoulders?” she asks.

“Whichever you’re more comfortable with,” he says, shrugging.

She settles for putting her hands on his shoulders as he resumes the song:

 _Can you feel the love tonight?_  
_The peace the evening brings._  
_The world for once in perfect harmony,_  
_With all its living things._

And they sway, like Pidge expected, and she leans into him a little more. She’s so much shorter than him that her eyes are only level with his collarbone, and if she wants to look at his face she has to tilt her head back.

Lance’s body radiates warmth; well,  _all_ living human bodies radiate some small amount of warmth, but Pidge is aware of it now in an unfamiliar way, one that’s somehow both exciting and frightening. She wants to close the gap between them, rest her forehead against his chest and wrap her arms around him and let him hold her.

Lance steers her in a circle, and Pidge avoids his eyes.

The song changes again, and she withdraws her arms, thinking the moment is over, but Lance is quick to grab her wrists and return them to their place. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“What?” she says, finally looking at him. “You’re not done?”

Lance scratches his chin and smiles sheepishly, and he’s either blushing or there’s some trick of the light inside the hangar. “It’s been a while since I slow danced,” he explains, “so maybe one more song?”

Pidge rolls her eyes but nods, fighting a smile.

She doesn’t recognize this song, but Lance hums along with it. She relaxes and shifts, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck instead. “So when did you last slow dance?” she asks, though she isn’t sure she wants to know the answer.

“My brother’s wedding,” he says.

“Really?” Pidge glances up in surprise. “Not that one dance at the Garrison when we were still there?”

“Eh.” She feels more than sees Lance’s shrug as he averts his eyes, looking embarrassed. “There wasn’t really anyone there I wanted to slow dance with.”

Irrationally, Pidge’s heart skips a beat. “You?” she snorts. “Miss a chance to make a fool of yourself in front of a girl?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Ha ha, very funny,” he says. “I’ll have you know I only slow dance with the most  _special_ of women.”

(Can she say it’s a trick of the light, if she can’t see her own face flush red? Does  _her_ body seem to radiate warmth to him?)

Pidge collects herself and asks, “And who was this  _special woman_ you danced with at your brother’s wedding?”

Lance smiles fondly. “My four-year-old niece.”

Stunned, Pidge laughs and presses her face into Lance’s chest. “Did she stand on your feet the entire song?”

“She did.”

Pidge giggles, picturing a younger, slightly ganglier Lance with a small girl balancing on his feet, her hands in his. The girl also giggles while her uncle smiles and spins her around in a circle, probably during what’s intended to be a  _solo_ dance for the bride and groom.

“I’m a good uncle,” Lance says, sounding indignant at her continued amusement.

“I’m sure,” Pidge agrees. She’s still smiling when she finally looks up at him, her chin pressed to his chest, but her breath catches as she notes how close their faces are, and how softly he smiles down at her. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, if she told him, if  _they_ —

A loud song with a raucous beat plays, startling Pidge into jumping out of Lance’s arms. “Your second song is done,” she tells him, returning to her desk.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees, sounding halfhearted.

“I think I’m done working for now,” Pidge continues as if she hadn’t heard him. She shuts down her computer and grabs her bag. “You can stay here, if you want; Green won’t mind, especially if you’re doing something for Princess Allura.”

“Right.”

Pidge shoulders her bag and makes to walk out of the hangar, but before she’s to the door she looks over her shoulder at Lance to see him with his back to her, his handheld music player in his hand while he prodded the screen with a finger using more force than necessary.

Pidge wipes away the first of her tears once she’s in the Castle’s main hall, furious at herself for getting her hopes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The Lion King_ came out the same year I was born; does that make me old??


	24. No Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'nonsexual intimacy' prompt: sharing a dessert
> 
> Canon compliant, tooth-rotting (in many ways) fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167478325518/if-you-still-do-the-meme-thing-for-plance-please)

 

Except for an odd utensil that looked like a cross between a spoon and a knife, Yudenans ate with their hands.

Which was fine for the appetizer and main course, which were both dry enough and relied heavily on bread, but when a tiny dessert plate with a pretty pastry was placed in front of Pidge, she started regretting all of her life choices as soon as she saw the syrup dripping from the edge.

“Pastry” might not be the best word to describe the dessert. It actually looked more like a few rolls of Jell-o but thicker and firmer, stuffed with something like cream or a thin, milky cheese, and topped with red slices of a fruit preserve and drenched in sweet, sticky  _syrup_.

Not that Pidge knew for sure it was sweet, exactly, because she spent more time staring at it suspiciously than on tasting it, tapping the edge of the plate with the spoon-knife and wondering why Allura couldn’t be moved when she asked if she would be more useful at the Castle rather than playing diplomat on a planet whose name she could barely remember.

At least all their attendance was mandatory, though even Keith made a better show of looking interested than Pidge did, stabbing into each roll as best as he could with a knife that was also a spoon.

(Earlier she spotted Shiro grabbing his wrist and keeping him from pulling out his Marmora Blade. Utilitarian, sure, but a Galra blade out during dinner would be difficult to explain to their hosts.)

Pidge sat between Hunk and Lance. Of course, Hunk relished any opportunity to try new food and possibly recreate it with a twist later, so she was not at all surprised at how relaxed he looked despite the formal dining setting, smiling as he ate.

Lance didn’t look as wound up as she felt either; he loved attention and laughed and spoke and listened at all the right moments. And though he didn’t seem to be enjoying his food as much as Hunk did, he seemed to have figured out a way to use the strange utensil.

Pidge stared at it again, wondering what sort of societal evolution would’ve had the Yudenans invent something like it. On one side it was curved and concave like a spoon, but on the other it flattened and was sharp like a knife. As a soup spoon it would be insufficient, and it would be useless for chopping meat or vegetables, but for the unusual dessert in front of her, it might be perfect.

Actually, if Pidge didn’t know any better, she would suspect the spoon-knife utensil was invented  _explicitly_ for this sort of dessert.

 _Necessity is the mother of invention,_ she thought wryly, amused despite how ridiculous it all was.

“Are you not going to eat that, Pidge?” Lance asked, interrupting her musing.

Pidge glanced at him, unsure if he wanted to finish her untouched dessert or if he was just worried (sometimes, it was difficult for her to tell). But she nudged the plate towards him and said, “You can have it. I’m full.”

“You sure?” Lance said. He narrowed his eyes at her, and Pidge flushed under his scrutiny. “It’s good; at least try it?”

She looked between him and the sweet, then sliced the edge off one of the rolls with the knife edge of the utensil and used a fingertip to nudge the piece onto the spoon part. And she brought the spoon-knife to her lips and tasted it.

It wasn’t as sweet as Pidge expected; in fact, the syrup had a hint of something sour, like oranges. But the texture of the roll made her want to gag, since her teeth sunk deep into it, but when she chewed, she couldn’t tear it apart. And the cream in the center tasted like sour milk, which made everything  _worse_.

“You  _liar_ ,” she hissed at Lance when she finally managed to swallow the first awful bite. She reached for her glass – not an intoxicant, since the Yudenans genuinely avoided those on principle – and gulped the contents down until it was empty, at which point she started eyeing Lance’s half-full glass.

“What?” Lance said, blinking at her in innocent confusion. (It was  _all_  a trick though.)

“It’s  _chewy_ ,” Pidge complained. She reached up and rubbed her teeth, as if she could wipe the lingering feeling of the food away like that. “And it’s not sweet at  _all_.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “You just can’t appreciate good food.”

“ _Please_ ,” Pidge said, nudging the partly severed roll with her eating utensil, “this tastes like a cross between a sour gummy worm dipped in gelatin dipped in orange glaze dipped in spoiled milk.” She crossed her arms. “The best I can say about it is that at least the milk it was dipped in isn’t  _chunky_ yet. Also,” she added contemplatively, prodding the red fruit preserves arranged artfully on top of the rolls, “these aren’t too bad.”

Lance stared at her, dumbfounded, then laughed. “God, Pidge, that was the most colorful description of food I’ve ever heard,” he said, “and I’ve been friends with Hunk for  _years_.”

“Hey,” Hunk finally interjected, “maybe I like sour gummy worms crossed with gelatin and dipped in orange glaze?”

Pidge looked at Lance, and together they turned to Hunk. “Even you can’t improve on this,” she said.

“True,” Hunk agreed, but he smiled impishly. “But that’s because it’s perfect as it is.”

Pidge rolled her eyes at Lance, who grinned at her. “So you want to finish my dessert?”

“When you have a perfectly good Hunk right there?” Lance retorted with a nod towards him.

“Hey, don’t mind me,” Hunk said. “This is obviously a romantic question, and I’d rather not be on the receiving end of Lance’s jealousy.”

Pidge snorted into the crook of her elbow while Lance screeched, “Hey!”

Pidge shushed him with an elbow to the ribs, suddenly conscious that they were surrounded by people and that Princess Allura was throwing them a dirty look from over Shiro’s head. She smiled apologetically – and hopefully  _innocently_ – at her and told Lance, “Take the rest of my dessert,  _hon_.”

“You got it,  _babe_ ,” Lance replied.

When she pushed the plate back towards her, he started in on the remaining rolls, but then she noticed him  _deconstructing_ them by picking the fruit preserves off and moving them to the edge of the dish.

“What’re you doing?”

“I didn’t really like this red stuff,” Lance said with a dismissive wave of his free hand.

“Sure you didn’t,” Pidge said, pointedly eyeing his very empty dessert plate.

Lance shrugged and ate. “Okay, fine,” he said with his mouth full. After he swallowed, he faced Pidge properly and said, “You told me they weren’t  _too bad_ so you’re eating them.”

“No thanks,” Pidge said. She crossed her arms and looked away.

“You know,” Lance said airily, “Allura  _did_ warn us that the Yudenans take any food left behind as an insult.”

“Then  _you_ eat them.”

“What if  _I’m_ full now?”

“Oh, you’re full of something, all right.” Pidge leaned towards him, close enough she could catch a whiff of his cologne – a much nicer scent than the burning candles arranged around the dining hall gave off – and said, “If you don’t eat them, I will give them to Hunk.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “You wouldn’t  _dare_.”

Pidge smirked at him. “I’m the Green Paladin. I would  _dare_  anything.”

“If  _you_ don’t eat them,” said Lance, “I will drop them down the back of your dress.”

Pidge opened her mouth to retort, to call him on his bluff, but from the smirk that slowly curled his lips, she knew she couldn’t. “Fine,” she grumbled, taking up the spoon-knife again and nudging red fruit preserves onto the spoon part. “You win.” Quieter, she added, “ _Asshole_.”

“But you’re the one who likes me,” Lance shot back smugly, “so who’s the  _real_ asshole here?”

Pidge snorted. “That just makes me something of an idiot.” She spooned the preserves into her mouth with a sigh; they actually  _did_ taste good, the one edible part of an otherwise unappealing dessert.

Lance made quick work of all that she left of her dessert, and Pidge, tired after a long evening of more socializing than she was accustomed to, leaned into his side as the Yudenans’ prime minister stood to make a speech about…something related to the Voltron Coalition (she might’ve dozed off for part of it).

Afterwards, when Pidge felt more alert and less confined, she told Lance, “I might’ve liked it more if it was actually  _sweet_. What kind of dessert isn’t  _sweet_?”

Lance wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, his face right next to hers and so close she could practically  _feel_ his smirk. “Maybe they thought you were plenty sweet enough without sugar, Pidge.”

Pidge fought a blush in vain as she shoved his face away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i totally based that dessert on a Lebanese sweet that i...don't particularly like. it's made of pumpkin and you roll it with clotted cream and you put citrus flower jam on it (the best part). and syrup. can't forget the syrup


	25. A Sticky Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a random prompt from a person who shall remain anonymous on tumblr
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff and humor (and awkwardness)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167508660773/so-i-was-thinking-about-this-we-know-pidge-still)

Lance held his shoes in one hand and his drenched jacket by the hood in the other, trying to make as little contact as possible with the floor between the kitchen and his bedroom. He made the mistake of getting in between Hunk and Coran during a squabble over who would make dinner that evening, and if he dripped or smudged even a single drop of  _whatever_ on the floor, he would have quiznak to pay from Coran.

Somehow, the sticky, viscous liquid - something like molasses - soaked through Lance’s shoes and into his socks, and his feet made unpleasant  _squelching_ sounds even though he walked on his toes as best as he could manage. He glanced over his shoulder, sagging when he spotted footprints left behind in his trail.

“Super,” he muttered. He resumed the walk to his room, looking forward to changing into something clean and not stained with a molasses-like substance.

Oddly, Pidge’s room was ajar, a crack between the door and the wall obvious, when he passed, but his own bedroom and clean clothes called to him, so he didn’t pay much mind to it.

Until he heard his name.

Lance paused, his heels falling to the floor. He slunk back slowly until he stood right outside Pidge’s door, his back to the wall as he strained his ears to eavesdrop.

“…not  _good_ with feelings,” Pidge was saying. “Or with people. Or talking in general since I tend to ramble, especially when I’m nervous, which I  _am_ right now, which is silly since you’re the  _trash_ Lance.”

First, Lance was amused, smiling and biting his lip to prevent himself from blurting,  _Breathe, Pidge_. But then he raised an eyebrow.  _Um, what?_

“Anyway,” Pidge continued with a heavy sigh, “now that I have my brother back I’ve kind of…been thinking about what I want. I mean, besides my dad back, since of course I need to find him too, but other than that…”

Lance leaned towards the door as her voice faded. No, he didn’t feel guilty about eavesdropping, not at all, and especially not because Pidge was…talking to  _him_?

Oh, yes, Lance was confused. Some  _very_ strange things had happened since they found the Blue Lion, but another Lance? Ha! And Shiro was a clone!

Though of course, if there  _was_ a second Lance walking around, surely the original was the best-looking and most charming of the two. But then why would Pidge be talking to the second rather than to  _him,_ the  _superior_ Lance?

Lance braced himself to barge in and demand why when she said:

“I like you! That’s what I was trying to say.” She practically  _growled_ , and he could picture her crossing her arms in frustration. “Quiznak, Hunk suggested that practicing would help, but I don’t feel any better.”

His shirt still slick with molasses, Lance slid down the wall and landed on his ass. And yelped. Loudly.

“What was that?”

Pidge poked her head through the crack in her door, first looking down one end of the hall before she turned to see him. Behind her glasses, her eyes widened comically - or, it would’ve been if she hadn’t caught him eavesdropping.

“ _Lance?”_

Lance decided to play it off. “Hey, Pidge,” he said, getting to his feet. “Fancy meeting you here?”

“This is my room,” she said.

“Right,” Lance said, and oh, he hoped he wasn’t blushing. “But you spend way more time in the Green Lion’s hangar than you do here.”

Pidge seemed to relax, though her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him. “What’s that on your shirt?”

“My what? Oh!” Lance laughed, though it sounded strained and awkward even to his own ears. He tugged at his collar, wincing at the feeling of the sticky fabric he pried from his skin. “Something like molasses. Coran and Hunk fought over control of the kitchen again.”

Pidge scoffed, “Coran should just surrender. He’s fighting a losing war.”

“Oh, he’s convinced he won this time.”

She smiled, actually stepping out of her room to better talk to him, and for a moment he felt a flush of victory, at least until she asked, “So you  _didn’t_ overhear me say…anything?”

Lance grinned as best as he could. “Nope, not a thing,” he lied.

Pidge nodded, smile turning into something relieved, the warmth Lance felt at the sight at odds with the guilt churning in his gut. “I’ll see you later at dinner, Lance,” she said. “You really look like you need a change of clothes.”

“Yeah, see you,” he said, holding his smile.

Pidge waved and disappeared back into her room, and the door pointedly slid shut behind her.

After he collected his thoughts - and they were in quite a bit of turmoil over what he heard - he wondered if he imagined the muffled scream following him down the hall.


	26. Raindrops

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'Affectionate Moments' prompts: A Tired Kiss / Caught in a Storm
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167792889713/22-and-plance-good-luck)

****Pidge spent most of the hike mentally – and verbally – cursing Lance’s name.

“Tell me again,” Pidge said through gritted teeth, “why I thought this was a good idea.” She clung to the cliff face, gloved fingers seeking purchase in gaps in the stone, glad that they’d at least had the foresight to wear their armor rather than civvies.

Lance, climbing above her, called, “You were bored!”

“Being  _bored_ isn’t a good reason to put me through this torture,  _Lance_!” she retorted. She pinched her eyes shut, resisting the urge to look down, but gravity tugged at her feet, tugged at the tiny pebbles and dust trapped between her heels and a jutting rock.

“We’re almost to the top!” Lance reassured her. She heard him grunt as he scrambled further up the cliff.

“We should’ve gone  _around_!” Pidge complained. When she found somewhere higher to put her foot, a loose stone fell, landing with a distant splash below.

It wasn’t a  _long_ fall, Pidge reminded herself, and she did wear her jetpack. But it was far enough that the height affected her thinking, made it impossible to  _not_ fear it, even if she logically knew she could easily survive it.

Then again, the black clouds that swirled on the horizon behind them earlier drew closer, intent on chasing them down. Yellow lightning illuminated them intermittently, and even the blue-white sky overhead grew darker as the storm closed in.

Apparently the Castle’s atmospheric scanners weren’t as thorough as Pidge initially thought.

(She made a mental note to upgrade them later, when she and Lance weren’t busy struggling to climb a vertical cliff.)

“Ha!” Lance crowed triumphantly. He heaved himself over the top, and before long he reached down for Pidge. “You can do it, Pidge! I believe in you!”

“Thanks,” Pidge said, resisting the urge to spout a more sarcastic retort as her hands and feet sought the same gaps in the stone that Lance had found. When, finally, she was within his reach, he grabbed her forearms, and she twisted her arms around to grasp his. With a grunt of effort, he heaved her over the top, leaving Pidge’s feet kicking at open air until the solid ground met her knees.

Together they collapsed, both panting with the effort of their climb. Pidge lay on her stomach, enjoying the feeling of level,  _horizontal_ ground more than she ever had and resolving to never take it for granted again.

Naturally, thunder rumbled closer than earlier, and the first drops of the coming storm splashed onto her upturned cheek before the downpour turned torrential.

Pidge hadn’t yet bothered to put her visor up, so water seeped into her helmet as quickly as the storm fell on them. The thunderclouds darkened the sky, the only light from the frequent lightning and the faint blue glow from their armor.

“Not exactly how I thought today would go,” Lance said, his voice tinny through the speakers in Pidge’s helmet. He, apparently, got his visor closed in time.

Pidge turned so she lay on her stomach, visor snapping shut so water wouldn’t get into her nose. “How  _did_ you think today would go?” she asked, actually curious.

Lance weakly raised the bag he’d brought with him, the own he refused to explain to her when she asked. The fabric was already sodden, but Lance didn’t seem too desperate to protect it and its contents. “Well, you know,” he said, huffing irritably. “Romantic walk through a forest, maybe a picnic.”

Pidge bolted upright and stared down at him. “Really?” she demanded. Warmth bloomed in her chest, at odds with the cold water trapped inside her helmet. “You do know I hate hiking, right?”

Lance nodded, then laughed, the light in his helmet illuminating a faint embarrassed flush on his face. “Yeah, but I also know you can’t say no to me.”

Pidge sighed and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “My greatest weakness.”

He sat up and slid towards her until he was close enough to put an arm around her shoulders. “This is good too though, right?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her when she turned her head to look at him.

Pidge wished that they didn’t have two layers of armor between them, that it wasn’t raining and storming and  _thundering_ and that every muscle in her body didn’t ache from their climb, just so that she could feel the warmth from his body. So close, but so far.

She frowned at him and said, “Could be better.”

Lance smiled. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Sorry about getting us lost.”

“That’s what you get for not telling me where we were going,” Pidge said, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Next time I’ll let you handle the map,” he promised.

Pidge smirked. “Next time I’ll think twice before going along with one of your  _surprises_.”

“And then you’ll agree, because you can’t say no to me.”

“Then I’ll have Hunk say no to you on my behalf.”

“That’s not a valid loophole,” Lance said. Oh no, he was starting to  _sulk_.

Pidge did her best to shift a little closer, leaning most of her weight against him. She looked up and met his eyes, smiling slightly. “Good thing neither of us is a lawyer.”

Lance grinned back.

They lowered their visors at the same time, the same objective on both of their minds, and despite the rain once more splashing into Pidge’s face when she tilted her head up, she more than enjoyed the kiss that followed.

Even if her exhaustion finally overtook her.

Pidge’s eyes slipped shut, and the last thing she sensed before unconsciousness pulled her under was Lance’s arms catching her against him.


	27. Something Fishy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'Affectionate Moments' prompt: A Hope We Don’t Get Caught Kiss
> 
> Canon compliant/future, fluff and (attempted) humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167797052933/15-with-plance-would-be-very-entertaining-if-you)

 

 ****Long ago, the feuding Marlins and the Atuns put aside their differences to unite against a common enemy, but now that the Galra were vanquished, they reverted to their old ways, much to Allura’s chagrin. And in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the building tension between the two planets, she sent one envoy to each of them.

Unfortunately, that threw an unexpected wrinkle in Lance’s plans that concerned Pidge, because with each of them on different sides of the conflict – despite the fact that they insisted they remained neutral as Paladins of Voltron – their respective sides expected them to maintain a certain… _aloofness_ around the other.

It was stupid, Lance thought when he finally spied Pidge across the room at yet  _another_ diplomatic meeting that would almost certainly devolve into yelling and threats, that he couldn’t even  _talk_ to her in private, let alone  _kiss_ her. He was constantly shadowed by an Atun soldier, ostensibly to ‘protect’ him.

“I don’t need a bodyguard,” he told the Atun Prime Minister when he introduced them.

“Please accept him, Paladin,” said the Prime Minister, his gills fluttering more rapidly. “It would look poor if a Marlin attacked you while you negotiated on our behalf.”

Lance didn’t point out that he was only there to make sure the Atuns complied with the temporary truce;  _Allura_  was technically the negotiator.

Besides, Lance was smart enough to understand the so-called bodyguard’s true purpose:  to spy on him.

Pidge stood with a Marlin that he’d spotted her with earlier, presumably serving the same purpose as Lance’s own shadow. She watched the proceedings – with Allura sitting at the head of the table, a vein jumping in her temple as the Atun Prime Minister yelled obscenities at the Marlin Queen – with the glazed-over expression he’d come to expect from her after too much  _talking_.

Lance glanced sideways at his bodyguard; his whole head was turned towards the conference table, eyes fixed on the meeting. Then he looked at Pidge, eyes widening when she turned her head and met his eyes.

 _Later,_ she mouthed at him.

Lance blinked, frowning in confusion.  _Later?_ Their every step was monitored, these  _fish people_ watching them like hawks! How the  _quiznak_ could they meet  _later_?

But it was Pidge, and if anyone could slip a shadow’s notice, it would be her. So he decided to wait, and trust her.

* * *

 

The only time Lance had any semblance of privacy was at night, when the day’s failed diplomacy ended and he retreated to the small bedroom provided for him.

On his first night, the water bed amused him, and he spent more time than he’d ever admit to anyone but Pidge and Hunk trying to make it burst. But by the third night, the constant watch wore on his nerves, especially when he stepped out of the room during a bout of insomnia and the guard posted there offered to escort him to wherever he wanted to go.

The only place he ever wanted to go when he couldn’t sleep was wherever Pidge was, and, well, he’d rather their  _private_ reunion not be witnessed by a handful of fishy aliens.

Now he sat leaning against the wall. His room had no window – the rooms with windows were coveted by guests more distinguished than the Paladins of Voltron – so he couldn’t sneak out that way. Besides, Pidge’s promise of  _later_ suggested that  _she_ would seek him rather than the other way around.

Lance hummed softly to himself while knitting, the clicking of the needles soothing him. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine he sat in the living room in his grandparents’ house, listening to his grandmother knitting. She would drop a stitch on purpose so he wouldn’t feel bad about his own dropped stitch, and then she would show him how to recover it, so smoothly it erased the mistake.

Something shifted in the walls, and Lance stopped humming, stilling the needles in his hands. He strained to hear, turning his head and pressing his ear to the wall behind him. But he didn’t hear or feel anything else, and so dismissed the sound as the building  _settling_ into its foundation.

Lance returned his attention to his knitting, but only for another moment. He put it aside, suddenly feeling too restless to sit mostly quiet in one place, his mind buzzing with Pidge’s promise. After getting to his feet, he paced the small room end to end, past the water bed, then changed direction so that he walked from the bedroom door to the strange crack in the wall across from it.

The crack widened.

“What the quiznak?” Lance hissed, lunging for his bayard, left abandoned on the vanity.

A piece of the wall swung out in a cloud of dust, and when the dust settled, Pidge stood in a gap – a  _doorway_ – so short her hair brushed the top. “You’re lucky I’m not claustrophobic,” she said, greeting him with a pleased smirk.

Lance’s jaw dropped as he took her in in all her dusty glory. When he recovered from his shock, he crossed his arms and asked, “So you couldn’t reach the air vents?”

Pidge snorted as she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to disperse the dust that seemed to drain it of color. “I tried our first night,” she admitted, “but I was caught. Too loud.”

“And that  _wasn’t_?” He gestured at the hole in his bedroom wall.

“Shh!” Pidge hissed, stalking towards him. “Keep your voice down!”

Before Lance could retort, a harsh knock sounded from the door. He froze, exchanging an anxious glance with Pidge, as his appointed Atun keeper asked, “Is everything all right in there?”

“Everything’s great!” Lance called, and it was, because Pidge was there.

“Are you sure, Paladin?” said the bodyguard. “I heard voices.”

“Oh, I’m just talking to myself,” Lance lied, smiling abashedly and hoping he sounded sheepish.

“…if you’re sure,” he said, though he sounded uncertain.

He left it at that, and Lance smiled widely at Pidge, who grinned back. “So…does that tunnel through the walls connect to your room?” he wondered.

Pidge scoffed, “I  _wish_. If it did, I would’ve been here the first night.”

“The first…? Pidge, how soon did you start  _breaking into walls_?”

She strolled around his room, stopping right in front of his discarded knitting and picking it up. “The first night,” she said. “I don’t like being told where I can and can’t go.” She glanced over her shoulder at him, a glint in her eyes. “Or who I can and can’t see.”

Lance’s heartbeat quickened, responding to her teasing.

“What’re you making?” she asked. She clicked the needles together as she approached him again. “A scarf? And where did you get the yarn?”

“Arusian wool,” Lance said. “And it’s a hat.” He snatched the knitting and yarn away from her, cradling it protectively.

“Hmm.” Pidge only eyed it for another second before she finally looked up to his face. “Is it just me,” she said, any teasing between them dispersing, “or is this frustrating?”

“It’s not just you,” he agreed. He dropped his knitting unceremoniously on the bed and turned to face Pidge again. “It’s weird not seeing you, you know,  _casually_.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant,” she said, the slightest smile tilting up a corner of her mouth.

Lance blinked at her, surprised. “It’s not?”

“No,” Pidge said. Her smile widened as she stepped closer to him, close enough that her toes touched his. “It’s frustrating being this close to you and  _not_ kissing you.”

Lance flushed, but recovered quickly enough to lean down, cupping her face and tilting her head back. She smiled as he finally kissed her, her arms winding around his neck and pulling him closer.

His frustration at their current mission evaporated, the warmth and reality of Pidge’s presence soothing his nerves. But when they parted to catch their breath, Lance asked, “What do you think happens if we  _do_ get caught?”

“At best, Hunk probably replaces one of us,” Pidge suggested. “At worst, Allura kills both of us.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her, skeptical. “Wouldn’t it be worse if the Marlins and Atuns started fighting again?”

Pidge sighed, looking down. “I’m starting to think that’s going to happen anyway.”

“Oh.” When Pidge still didn’t look at him, he said, “Hey, it’s not our fault. We’re doing the best we can.”

“We’re just here to put pressure on them to cooperate,” Pidge complained, turning her head back up. “And so far, it’s not working.”

“Well, stuff like this takes time,” Lance reassured her. He pressed his lips to her forehead, and when she giggled – she  _did_ love it when he kissed her forehead – he closed the gap between them again.

This time Pidge tipped her head back, away from him. “Now you’re trying to distract me,” she said.

“Is it working?” Lance wondered.

She rolled her eyes and said, “Yes.” She kissed him, walking backwards and dragging him with her until they sat on the water bed. Her hands slid into his hair, his own drifting down to her waist.

Before long, Pidge was lying down, Lance hovering over her, balancing almost uncomfortably on his arms. She smiled against his lips, as if it at a private joke she was about to share with him, but not without flipping their positions, her surprising strength rolling them so he lay down and she straddled him.

“Ow,” Lance said as something hard dug into his back.

“What?” Pidge asked, sitting up. “Did I—”

“No, it’s not you.” He half-sat up, reaching underneath. “Huh, my knitting.” He felt along the yarn until he found the needles, somewhere at his lower back, but when he shifted, a soft  _pop_ sounded beneath him.

Water seeped into his shirt.

He stared up at Pidge, eyes wide with horror. “So I just popped the bed,” he said.

“You did  _what_?” Pidge hissed, her own eyes bugging in alarm.

“This is fine though!” Lance tried to reassure her quickly. “It’s just a leak!”

Pidge stood up, backing away from him, and Lance followed, but it was too late for his yarn, his clothes, the sheets, the bedspread, and the carpet. “Quiznak,” said Pidge as they stared at the damage.

“This is going to be fun to explain in the morning,” Lance agreed with a backwards glance at the door.

Pidge then took his hand. “Well, I guess this means I can take you on the all-access tour of the building,” she said, a fresh smile alighting her face.

“Oh yeah?” Lance said, brightening when he met her eyes.

That familiar glint of mischief filled her eyes as she led him to the hole in his bedroom wall. “I just hope we don’t get caught,” she joked.

“And if we do?”

“Maybe our  _tryst_ can inspire these fish to  _reconcile_ , huh?”

Lance smirked. “I like the way you think, Pidge.”

“Hmm, now  _that’s_ something I would love to hear more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record that is the closest i will ever get to writing smut


	28. Dead Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the "Affectionate Moments" prompt: a Scared Kiss
> 
> Canon compliant, angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167915136453/heya-for-the-prompt-thingy-7-or-15-with-plance)
> 
>  **Warning** for violence, major character injury, mentioned suicide, and minor character death

 

Sometime during their second year in space, Lance lost count of the number of experiences he had that could be classified as ‘near death’.

This was the latest one.

It started as a simple rescue mission, something routine, when a rebel commander was captured by Druids. Unfortunately, fighting Druids wasn’t as straightforward as fighting regular Galra troops or sentries, and Lance found himself with a burning wound uncomfortably close to his neck while he struggled to hold both the drugged rebel commander and Pidge upright.

“I should’ve…stayed with the Lions,” Pidge muttered through gritted teeth. She limped heavily, even leaning much of her weight against Lance, the break in her leg making it impossible for her to walk on her own.

“Try contacting the Castle again,” Lance suggested.

“I  _did_ ,” Pidge whined. “This ship is jamming communications somehow; I need to hack into their systems to figure out how to get around it, and—”

Lance interrupted her by steering them rapidly towards the wall, dodging enemy fire ahead. Pidge gasped in pain at the sudden movement, and he muttered an apology.

“Rest for a minute,” Lance said, helping her lean against the wall before depositing the freed – but not exactly  _rescued_ – rebel commander beside her. He summoned his bayard, and it morphed into his familiar rifle in his hands. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

“Wait, Lance—”

Lance only lingered long enough to make sure she summoned her own bayard; instead he shuffled forward and took aim at the Galra closing in on them.

He wasn’t sure if he imagined that the troops stationed on a Druid ship were more  _competent_ than the average Galra grunt. Keith or Shiro might be able to tell, since they both preferred to fight at close range, but Lance had to rely on distance, even if the soldiers he fired at dodged quicker than they should’ve.

“Come on,” Lance grumbled, frustrated as yet  _another_ soldier slid out of the way, moving at inhuman speed.

(Not that Galra could be considered  _human_ , anyway.)

Behind him, Pidge attempted to contact the Castle again, but he heard her gasp in pain, followed by her shouting his name.

Lance spun around, putting up his shield to protect himself from the enemies he now had at his back as he returned to Pidge and the rebel commander. He faltered as a shiver of fear ran down his spine when he saw the Druid that bent down to collect the commander.

“No!” Pidge shrieked, lashing out at the Druid with her bayard, but they vanished in a puff of smoke before her blow fell, and reappeared a few feet away.

Lance fired at the Druid, but when they dissolved before his eyes, the laser blast passing through air rather than flesh, he realized he should’ve known better. “Where’d they go?” he demanded once he stood beside Pidge and the commander.

“How should I know?” Pidge asked. “Commander, are you all right?”

The commander moaned. “Kill me,” he said.

“What?” Pidge said, sounding stunned, while Lance whipped his head around so fast he almost pulled a muscle in his neck.

“Kill me,” the commander said again, voice faint as he slowly emerged from his stupor. “They’ll take me alive again, and I know how the Druids like their torture.”

“But—”

“ _Kill me_ ,” he begged. “It’s better I die to protect the rebellion than to give up their secrets.  _Please_.”

Pidge’s wide eyes drifted up to meet Lance’s. He struggled to think of the right words to say in a situation like this, but he tried, “We’ll get us all out of here alive.”

“No, you won’t,” said the commander, shaking his head. “The drug they gave me will take too long to wear off completely, and you”—he barely lifted his arm but managed to gesture towards Pidge—“can barely walk. Kill me,” he insisted, “and save yourselves.”

“Sir—”

Blaster fire interrupted them, and Lance engaged his shield again, crouching beside Pidge to cover the three of them. “What do we do?” he asked her.

“I don’t—I  _need_ to get to a communication station,” Pidge said again. “If I can hack into the system—”

“They know our style by now,” Lance pointed out. He fired at a sentry that drew too close for comfort, barely pausing to celebrate when it fell to the ground. “They’ll have it blockaded, and who knows what will be waiting for us? We  _need_ to get to the escape pods.”

“I…yes,” Pidge finally agreed, but she still grumbled in frustration.

“Let’s move,” said Lance, getting to his feet. He kept his shield up and reached down to help Pidge get to hers, but before she could grasp his hand, a burst of energy – hot  _electricity_ – struck him on his exposed side. The shock coursed through his body, enflaming his nerves, and the scent of scorched hair and burning skin reached his nose.

The blast knocked him off his feet, and he moaned as his back hit the ground. His vision clouded with black spots, his ears ringing. He barely registered Pidge screaming his name.

“I’m fine,” he tried to tell her, but he couldn’t get his lips to form the words.

Distantly he heard the ongoing fight. He heard Pidge take on the Druid, as best she could with a broken leg and a drugged escaped prisoner to protect. He heard the rebel commander, still delirious with the drug, beg someone,  _anyone_ , to kill him. He heard his own heartbeat, surprisingly fast for a body giving out.

The ground felt hard against Lance’s back, even through his armor. It was an odd complaint to have considering his nerves still buzzed with residual electricity. He wondered if Red would hate him for abandoning him and if he would accept Allura as a pilot this time, or if his mother would mourn him, at least before remembering that she probably already had.

Lance felt soft lips pressing firmly to his own, a couple drops of water falling onto his face. His eyelids fluttered open and focused on Pidge’s face, hovering above his, and he smiled for her. He tried to say her name, but his tongue felt heavy in his mouth and wouldn’t obey him. His head was pillowed in her lap (she must’ve moved him while he was blacked out), the best cushion he could’ve asked for.

“You’ll be fine, Lance,” Pidge said, her fingernails digging into his wrist – another pain he only felt as if it belonged to someone else. “Allura will bring the Castle, and Shiro will say  _form Voltron!_ And you’ll be f-fine.” Her voice wavered.

Form Voltron? Lance thought. Without Pidge? Without  _him_?

That hurt him as much as the Druid’s lightning, a worry that seeped into his heart and had his own eyes filling with tears.

“W-where’s the c-commander?” he finally managed to say through clumsy lips.

Pidge wiped at her eyes. “He got between me and the Druid,” she said, her hand squeezing Lance’s. “It was—it was enough of a distraction that I could kill  _them_ too.”

Lance blinked, surprised when he could open his eyes again. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

“Was this a waste of time then?” she wondered. “W-we  _failed_.”

Somehow, Lance made his fingers follow his will so he could grasp Pidge’s hand, though with less force than he would’ve liked. “That’s okay,” he reassured her. “H-he got what he wanted, right?”

Pidge nodded, but she still looked worried. Lance’s own heart sank into his stomach with the sick feeling of failure.

“What now?” Pidge asked.

Lance wasn’t sure if it was some kind of pre-death delirium or if he heard a Lion roar, somewhere inside his head. He smiled up at Pidge and imagined all the times he had yet to kiss her.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I think we’ll be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if one person comments "thanks i hate it" and means it, then congratulations, you have made my entire pseudo-career as a fanfic writer


	29. Propriety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the "affectionate moments" prompt: A Love Bite
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff and attempted humor, implied sexual content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167928847668/plance-17)

 

Pidge’s favorite sweater didn’t suit its purpose anymore, she realized early in the day cycle. The purpose of a sweater, in addition to keeping the wearer warm, was also to conceal, to protect from view anything that the wearer did not wish to be seen. And the collar of her sweater had stretched out so much that she could fit her head  _and_ at least one arm through it.

Now, Pidge regretted not considering that the ‘night’ before as she stared at the reddish bruise on her collarbone, standing out starkly against her pale skin.

Then again, Pidge never worried about hiding a love bite before, least of all even had anyone that wanted to give her one. She traced the edge of the rough oval with a fingertip, face warming at the memory of Lance’s lips latched onto her collarbone, his teeth scraping her skin.

But as pleasant as the process was, now she suffered the consequences…and how to  _hide_ it. Sure, everyone aboard the Castle knew they were ‘dating’ (or as close to ‘dating’ as one could get in space in the middle of an intergalactic war), but that didn’t mean she felt comfortable flaunting the marks Lance left on her body.

(Pidge smirked as she remembered leaving behind her own handiwork; served him right, leaving a love bite somewhere so  _obvious_.)

Pidge put on her favorite sweater anyway, just in case, and though she suspected the outcome, she couldn’t help sighing in disappointment when the top half of the hickey peeked out over the collar.

Makeup was the most obvious cover, but all Pidge had in her bag before plummeting from Earth across the universe was a tube of chap stick, now discarded since she finished it several months ago. Most of her teammates didn’t bother with cosmetics and so would be useless to ask – not to mention asking someone for concealer would require a more in-depth explanation than Pidge was comfortable giving.

 _I can ask…Lance?_ Pidge rolled her eyes at her reflection.  _He gave this to me, so he should be responsible for it._ She tugged her collar up, high enough that it would hide it lest she pass someone else in the hallway on her way to Lance’s room, and slipped out of her bedroom.

Pidge knocked on Lance’s door, positioned just a few paces away from her own. He answered it quickly, smiling when he saw her. “Good morning, Pidge,” he said, and before she could reply he added, “And yes, I  _know_ there are no mornings in space, Pidge, thanks to you.”

Pidge snickered, nudging him aside so he would let her into his room. Once the door shut behind her, she dropped her collar and asked, “Do you have any concealer?”

Lance, who’d paused halfway between her and the door, blinked at her before his eyes drifted down. His lips curled into a smirk. “Why hide it?” he asked.

“Because I don’t feel like answering questions?” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Besides, I don’t see you so eager to show off  _your_ scars.”

“Scars, huh?” Lance scratched his back. “Well, fine, I have concealer—”

“Thanks!”

“—but it’s the wrong colors.”

Pidge stared at him. “What do you mean it’s the  _wrong color_?” she demanded.

Lance approached her until he stood beside her, holding his arm out and reaching to lift hers beside it. “Does that answer your question?”

She glanced between their arms and felt a flush of embarrassment. “Oh,” she said. “I knew that.”

“Sure,” Lance agreed, ruffling her hair. “But you know, Pidge, for a genius, you sure can be—”

“Do you  _really_ want to finish that sentence?” Pidge interrupted.

Lance smiled sheepishly at her. “Fine, but I have another idea.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lance left her to walk to his closet. He opened the door and leaned down, rifling through piles of junk – unlike her, he stored his mess out of sight – and fallen clothes. After a few seconds of Pidge waiting and Lance digging, he cried out triumphantly and backed away, a bundle of fabric in his hands.

“Ta dah!” he said, presenting her with it.

“Uh…” Pidge took it from him, unfurling a scarf striped green and white. She looped it around her neck twice, but it was still so long that the ends still nearly trailed to the floor. Smiling, she spun, watching the ends flap up around her.

Lance laughed. “Does this mean you like it?”

“I love it,” Pidge said, not even bothering to conceal any of her enthusiasm. She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her toes, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

Lance leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m glad,” he said, “but I was saving it for…some other time.”

“Like when?”

“Like when…we have an anniversary,” he said, blushing. “Or something like that.” He scratched his cheek awkwardly.

Pidge smiled wider, her own face warm. “I’m sure you’ll think of something else for that.”

Lance brightened and his arms looped around her waist as he rested his forehead against hers. “Yeah,” he said. Then his smile turned mischievous and he wondered, “Now that you have this handy dandy scarf, do you want to put it to good use?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Is there an ice planet around here you want to explore?”

He scoffed, “Well, that would be fun too, sure. But I meant…” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her, gaze dipping down to where the scarf concealed the love bite.

“Gross,” Pidge complained, nudging his face away from hers.

* * *

The scarf idea was a success – she even got several compliments on it, and the mice liked hanging from the ends as she walked – at least until they hit the training deck.

Pidge forgot about the reason she even wore the scarf while training. She worked out in civvies rather than in her armor this time, and Allura trained with her, giving her a few pointers on how she could use her size to her advantage in hand-to-hand combat. When it grew uncomfortably warm, she unfurled the scarf from around her neck and tossed it aside, her sweater following right after until she was left in a black tank top.

Allura’s eyes popped as they fixed on her collarbone. “Oh, Pidge! What happened?”

“Huh?” Pidge said, hand going up to where Allura’s gaze was fixed.

“Is that a…a bruise?” Allura asked.

Pidge looked down, and her eyes widened in horror. “It’s… _kind of_ a bruise?” she said.

“What happened?” she demanded. “You didn’t get that  _now_  while we were sparring, did you?”

“No!” Pidge reassured her quickly. “It’s nothing! It doesn’t even hurt!”

“But someone  _did_ hurt you?”

“Not at all!” Pidge said. She covered the love bite with her hand, too late.

“Then…who did this, Pidge?”

Shocked by the protective fire in Allura’s eyes, she admitted, “Lance.”

“Are you and Lance fighting?”

“Princess,” Pidge said helplessly, “this isn’t  _painful_ , and it  _wasn’t_. In fact, I  _liked_ getting it.”

Allura tapped her chin, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I am…very confused,” she said. “Does human skin not bruise when it suffers a blunt impact, such as a punch?”

“Yes,” said Pidge, “but this is a little… _different_.”

“How so?”

“Well…” Pidge waved her hand, not really sure how to explain it without making either of them uncomfortable. “This is called a…love bite.”

The princess raised an eyebrow at her. “A…love bite?”

“Yes,” said Pidge. Then, seeing a way out, she smirked and suggested, “You should ask Keith about it. I’m sure he’d  _love_ to show you.”

Allura actually seemed to  _consider_ that, so Pidge decided it was time to take her leave. She grabbed her sweater and new scarf from the ground and clutched them bundled up against her chest, careful that they hid the love bite so she could be spared questions from any  _other_ people – human or Altean – aboard the Castle.

“I’ll see you later, Princess,” said Pidge.

“Yes, of course,” said Allura, now looking distracted.

As Pidge left the training deck in search of a shower, she considered how she might convince Keith that he owed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite the contrast from last chapter, eh??


	30. Damsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt from the Pidgance Positivity Discord: Wrong Number
> 
> Modern/College AU, fluff and attempted humor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167931689988/if-youre-wondering-why-im-posting-three-fics-in)
> 
> Also, in my defense, I know I've posted a 'wrong number' AU before. _but this is different_ , I promise

The phone was ringing.

Pidge sighed heavily, looking up from her physics textbook to the clock steadily ticking to nine pm, to the door that stayed devoutly closed, and finally to the phone that refused to quiet. She considered:  what if she just simply…didn’t answer? The library was less than five minutes from closing anyway, and this early in the semester no one spent the evenings here, except for a couple of oddball stragglers that wandered in and fell asleep in the afternoons.

Pidge gave up on the third ring.

“Hello?” she said, picking the phone up and putting it to her ear.

“Oh, thank God!” said a voice pitched high with panic. “Keith, buddy, I need your help!”

“Um, what?” Pidge said.

“Listen, you know that bar on the corner of Berry and Crystal? I’m kind of…stuck there, and I need a ride. I’d call Hunk, but—”

“Listen, dude,” Pidge interrupted before the caller’s tirade could go any further, “I have no idea who this Keith guy is, but I know it’s not me.”

The caller fell silent, then he said, “Oh. I’m…sorry to bother you. Have a good night.” He hung up.

Pidge closed the line, feeling both confused and curious. What was up with him? Then again, her curiosity was probably due to the monotony of working at the university library; not for the first time, she wished she still worked at the systems help desk. At least  _then_ she could have her computer out all shift long without feeling guilty.

Of course, her supervisor strongly ‘suggesting’ that she switch her work study appointment to the library after she snapped at an engineering student’s incompetence with his computer still weighed heavily on her mind. Which meant she was stuck at the library, because even  _that_ was better than the dining halls.

The phone rang again.

The clock read 8:58, which at least gave Pidge plausible deniability if she decided not to answer, but, well…

Pidge grabbed the phone and said, “Hello? Library.”

“So this is really embarrassing,” said the same caller as before, “but I saved Keith’s number wrong and, well, can  _you_ pick me up?”

“Wait,  _what_?”

“I need a ride,” he said with a sigh. “If you want, I can make it up to you with coffee or something. Well, maybe not  _tonight_ , but—”

“How do I know you’re not luring me somewhere to murder me or something?” Pidge demanded.

He laughed. “See, I get why you would think so, but I’m getting desperate here, dude.”

Pidge sighed and looked once more at the clock. “I’m getting off work now,” she said. “You said you’re on Berry and Crystal?”

“Yup,” he said.

“Fine,” said Pidge, against her better judgment. She closed her textbook and stuffed it into her backpack. “I’ll…be there, I guess.”

“Great!” he said brightly, tone filled with relief. “But, uh, do you, by chance, know how to pick a lock?”

* * *

 

Lance saw no point in avoiding the odd passerby’s gaze, so he looked each one right in the eye with a smile plastered on his face. The smile said,  _Yes, I handcuffed myself to this lamppost on_ purpose _, thank you for your concern._

He’d panicked earlier, when Nyma first drove off with his car after she convinced him to let her drive –  _awful_ idea; apparently he needed to get a background check done on every girl he dated – but now he fell into something like acceptance.

And irritation. He couldn’t help glaring at the last person that shot him a too-curious look, and even though he had someone – a perfect stranger, no less! – coming to pick him up, he resented the pedestrians for not calling the police.

Actually, maybe  _he_ should’ve called the police the  _first_ time someone other than Keith answered his call.

Lance leaned his forehead against the lamppost. This corner of Berry and Crystal was in the historic district of town, and the lamppost itself looked like something straight out of the Chronicles of Narnia. The metal felt cool against his face and soothed some of his anger despite the stiffness in his wrists. He tapped his foot, and his phone, still clutched in his hand, against the pole, impatient. Waiting, waiting,  _waiting_ …

The sound of a high-pitched motor approaching interrupted his thoughts, and Lance straightened. He tried to lean casually against the post, as if the person on the other end of his call hadn’t already heard him panic, but he almost slipped and gave it up. Time to pretend he and the lamppost were caught in a passionate embrace, then.

A motorized scooter pulled up to the curb beside him, and a short, slight figure dismounted and took off a helmet. Absurdly, the first thought that entered Lance’s head at the sight of them was  _soft_.

“You’re the guy that might be luring me into a trap?” the person – a girl that looked a little younger than Lance – asked.

Lance flashed her his most winning smile. “That’s me!”

For some reason, she  _frowned_ at him, even though here he was, as much a damsel in distress as he claimed! But why the hell was she  _looking at him like that_ , in a way that made him squirm?

The girl – his soon-to-be hero – crossed her arms. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Should I?”

She rolled her eyes and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with. What lock do you need me to pick?”

Despite his confusion, he rattled the handcuffs binding him to the lamppost. “So…you can help, right?”

She squinted at his wrists, then nodded. She returned to her moped and rifled through a backpack before approaching him again with a safety pin in hand. “Don’t move,” she warned him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lance quipped.

She grabbed one of his wrists, holding it in place and moving it at will to mess with the lock on the cuffs. He couldn’t quite see what she was doing, but there was something oddly mesmerizing about her frown of concentration. So he wondered, “You don’t want to know how I got handcuffed to a lamppost?” When she didn’t reply immediately, he tried again, “What if I got arrested and the cops who did it are in the bar getting a drink?”

“Cops don’t do that,” she replied. Then she smirked, and with a click the handcuffs opened.

Lance exhaled a sigh of relief, rubbing the red marks on his wrists. “Thanks,” he said. “That was really…nice of you.”

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Just don’t make it a habit, all right?” She pointed towards her moped. “Do you still need a ride?”

Lance eyed the scooter skeptically. Could it even hold both of them  _and_ what looked like an overstuffed backpack? Did he trust her not to murder them? Then again, if he’d been able to reach and convince Keith to rescue him, he would’ve been going home on the back of a motorcycle.

So maybe riding a scooter with a stranger driving was safe enough.

“Yes, please,” Lance said cheerfully. “I’ll make it up to you, uh…?” He stared at her expectantly, and when she just blinked at him in confusion, he rolled his eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m…Pidge.”

“Lance,” he said, holding his hand out to her. “Also, uh, you say we’ve met?”

Pidge eyed his hand but accepted it, and they shook. “You came to the systems desk once last semester and I…lost my temper with you.” She dropped his hand quickly, eyes drifting to the ground. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Huh,” said Lance, shrugging. “I actually forgot that even happened.” Now that he thought about it, he  _did_ remember going to the help desk when he had trouble downloading a software, but not what happened there.

“Well, I’m not there anymore,” said Pidge. She took up her helmet again, before seeming to reconsider and passing it to him. “Where am I taking you?”

“Oh, the off-campus apartments,” Lance said. He watched Pidge mount her scooter, and after she raised an expectant eyebrow at him, he climbed up behind her.

She fired up the engine and took off down the street and through the historical district. They rode in silence – Lance thought they could’ve easily managed a conversation, as slowly as she drove and as little traffic as there was – and he considered his next step. Reporting his car stolen, probably; maybe coming clean about it to his parents. Oh, and making sure Keith and Hunk  _never_ found out, or they would  _never_ let him forget—

The scooter came to a screeching halt as Pidge broke hard at a red light. Lance frantically grabbed onto her waist so he wouldn’t fall, and Pidge said, “Sorry! I thought I could make it.”

“Please don’t kill me,” he said. “I’ve had a bad enough day without adding ‘death’ to it.”

“At least it would be an eventful end,” Pidge quipped.

 _A joke?_ Lance grinned.

“So how  _did_ you end up handcuffed to a lamppost?” she asked right as the light turned green. She urged the scooter forward.

Lance explained, “Well, I was on a date, and she asked if she could drive my car. Being the nice guy that I am, I said yes, of course. Then she started seducing me, handcuffed me, and left. In my car.”

Pidge snorted. “You don’t sound as embarrassed as you did on the phone.”

“Oh, trust me,” Lance said, conscious of the heat on his face despite the cool evening breeze they cut through as Pidge drove, “I’m  _very_ embarrassed.  _Humiliated_ , even. The only thing that would make this worse is if it  _was_ Keith that answered the phone. And, well,” he added, a little regretfully, “I’ll probably never see you again, so you won’t be able to hold this over my head.”

“Right,” Pidge said.

(He wasn’t sure if he imagined the disappointment in her voice.)

Lance directed her the rest of the way to his apartment complex, and once she parked outside, he dismounted and returned the helmet to her. “So…you still work at the systems help desk?” he wondered in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.

“No,” Pidge admitted, offering him the slightest smile. “I got…transferred.”

“To where?”

“Library,” she said.

“Huh,” he said. “Maybe I should check that place out.”

Pidge leaned against the handlebars of her scooter. “You’re not much of a studier, are you?”

“I resent that accusation,” Lance said, crossing his arms.

She snorted and said, “You wouldn’t resent it if it wasn’t true.”

“Maybe,” he agreed.

“Anyway, you should probably report your car stolen,” said Pidge. “I wouldn’t want to have to rescue you again.”

“Maybe next time I’ll be the one rescuing  _you_.” He winked at her.

Unfortunately, she only rolled her eyes. “In your dreams, Lance.” With that, she offered him a wave and drove away.

Lance watched her go until she was out of sight, then shook his head to clear it. He’d  _just_ had the worst date ever; did he  _really_ need to daydream about another girl so soon?


	31. Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'affectionate moments' prompt: A Kiss of Relief
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167966789373/i-hope-the-posting-of-the-prompt-list-means-that)

 

Lance was late returning from his solo mission.

Pidge checked the Castle’s standardized clock for the umpteenth time in the last two vargas, two vargas that Lance should’ve already been  _back_. She glanced towards Allura, who checked into the bridge yet again as if expecting him to connect any tic now asking for a wormhole.

But so far, there was nothing.

Pidge’s eyes glazed over while she tried to focus on something else, but even the pull of a task unfinished couldn’t distract her from her worried thoughts. “Is it possible that I…screwed up?” she wondered. And for the umpteenth time since Lance was due back, she accessed the data she stored at the terminal, the estimate for how many enemy combatants there were at Lance’s destination.

Pidge had judged they were few enough for only one Lion to handle, and Lance, more idle than the rest of them were between larger missions and engagements, deployed. But if her program – if  _she_ – was wrong…

“Why didn’t you call for backup, you idiot?” she hissed.

“Pidge?” said Allura from her position in the center of the bridge. “Did you say something?”

“No,” she lied. “Just that I’m going to go…check on Green.”

An excuse made, Pidge fled the bridge as calmly as she could. She clutched a copy of the program on a slender Altean memory storage device in her hand, and she passed by her bedroom to pick up her helmet before traveling down to the Green Lion’s hangar.

Pidge settled at her desk in the hangar, plugging the storage device into her computer, and then turned to face her Lion. “You don’t feel anything from Red, do you?” It was a faint hope, because she didn’t understand how deep the connections between the individual Lions went, but—

A soothing blanket slipped into Pidge’s mind, but it carried no confirmation. Well, Pidge thought, no news was good news, right?

(That was the platitude that kept her going in the time it took to find Matt; it  _still_ kept her going as she searched for her father.)

Pidge slipped her helmet on, toggling between channels and finding the long-range signal they used when they went on separate missions. But it was silent.

The computer emitted an alarm, and when Pidge turned to it she saw that the program ran, analyzing the location they deployed Lance. It showed an  _updated_ estimate.

Pidge clenched her hands into fists as she contacted Allura in the bridge. “Princess,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level, “we have a problem.”

“Yes,” Allura agreed a few tics later, “Lance just contacted the Castle. I’m opening a wormhole; prepare to back him up.”

“O-okay,” Pidge said, one part shocked and one part  _relieved_. But that relief gave way to irritation by the time she put on the rest of her armor.

Lance had some  _explaining_ to do about why he was  _late_.

* * *

 

Lance emerged from the Red Lion, unhurt as far as Pidge could tell. He smirked, smug, when he pulled off his helmet, exposing his flattened hair and slightly flushed face.

Relief so strong it washed almost everything else out drove Pidge forward. She wasn’t sure if she was going to smack him or hug him for worrying her, so she ended up doing something in the middle.

She grabbed him by the collar of his armor to tug him down to her level, and she kissed him.

Lance squeaked, and Pidge realized what she was doing and let him go, jumping away from him. Her face felt aflame, and she avoided his eyes. “Next time,” she said, “don’t wait so long to call for backup.”

“I’ll…remember that,” said Lance. When Pidge chanced a glance at his face, he stared at her with wide eyes, cheeks redder than before, as if he saw her for the first time.

“I’m going to…get something to eat,” Pidge said, turning on her heel and marching out of the Red Lion’s hangar. It took all her willpower to resist the temptation to look towards Lance.

“Pidge, wait!” he called. She heard his footsteps as he caught up to her and finally glanced at him once he walked beside her. “So…what  _was_ that for?”

“I was worried,” Pidge admitted, tucking her helmet more comfortably under her arm. “And you were late.”

“I’m always late,” Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Not when it counts.”

“Aw, you  _do_ care!”

Pidge turned to face him, pressing a frustrated hand to her forehead. “Of course I do. Haven’t you been paying attention?”

“Not as much as I should’ve been, apparently.” Lance smiled.

She rolled her eyes, shuffling her feet. “Keep that up and I might just kiss you again.”

“Well, don’t let my being a  _goofball_ stop you.”

Pidge flashed him a smile of her own.


	32. Daydreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the 'affectionate moments' prompt: A First Kiss
> 
> Canon compliant, angst with a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167955126158/if-you-are-still-accepting-i-would-love-8)

 

Pidge daydreamed.

When she was younger she daydreamed about going to space, about her feet sinking into Martian soil, about her fingers – gloved, of course – brushing asteroids as far away as the Kuiper Belt. She daydreamed about traveling into space with her father and brother, unless she was angry with one of them, in which case she daydreamed about traveling into space without them.

Pidge daydreamed about living in her favorite video games, about rescuing princesses from monsters, about mushrooms helping her grow taller – a tactic her mother exploited to get her to stop picking them off her pizza. She daydreamed herself into books, from fantastical worlds of prophecies and magic, to the more plausible but still out of reach planets of science fiction.

Pidge might have daydreamed, but never once did she dream it would come true.

And between breaking into the Garrison to uncover secrets about her family’s disappearance and being whisked away across the universe in the Blue Lion, Pidge had no more time to daydream.

Except during dull diplomatic meetings, when Allura insisted that they attend and pay attention, Pidge found herself slipping into daydreams. But now that she was in space, living the fantastical, the only thing she could daydream about was the mundane.

Her father and brother, safe at home; her mother squeezing her so tightly she thought she would break. The look on Commander Iverson’s face when he saw Katie Holt – in the flesh – piloting a monster-machine out of intergalactic lore. And, strangely,  _Lance_.

It wasn’t that her friends didn’t feature in her daydreams; it was that  _Lance_ appeared so much more. When Pidge let her mind wander where it pleased, it usually drifted to Lance.

The daydreams with Lance were always innocent. Sometimes she reminisced, both from before Voltron – and regret always tinged those memories – and after. Both good and bad, safe and dangerous.

“Why?” she asked Hunk once, when they were working on improving the Castle’s scanners. “Why the quiznak can’t I stop thinking about Lance?”

Hunk narrowed his eyes at her while she handed him a tool. “Uh, have you considered that you might… _like_ him?”

Pidge stared at him, confused. “Of course I do?” she said. “We’re friends, so why wouldn’t I?”

Hunk sighed and disappeared as he crawled under the counter. “I mean like…like you want to  _date_ him, like him.”

“W-what?” Pidge said. “No way! That’s impossible. I don’t like him like  _that_!”

(Pidge’s whole body felt like someone dangled her into a volcano, or perhaps into a star.)

“Right,” Hunk said skeptically. “You keep telling yourself that.” He peeked out to scrutinize her. “Meanwhile, I’ll watch you give him those jealous  _side-eyes_ every time he so much as  _breathes_  in Allura’s direction. Oh, and you know you’re the only one that consistently laughs at his jokes?” He smirked at her. “Time to face the music, Pidge; you like Lance.”

Pidge glared at Hunk. “Fine,” she said. “You believe what you want.”

For the rest of their task, Pidge made sure to let go of everything she handed Hunk just a little too early, so that it slipped his fingers and fell to the floor.

* * *

 

Pidge didn’t daydream about kissing Lance, oh no.

Pidge  _dreamed_ about it instead, which was so much worse because dreams were a reflection of her subconscious, weren’t they? And she directed the trajectories of her daydreams, but the dreams that sleep plunged her into were out of her control.

Pidge woke up at her leisure for once, warm and comfortable in her bed rather than cold and cramped slumped over her desk. The last threads of her dream lingered, and she held tight to them, struggling to recall details. She thrived off details; every single one was evidence to what Hunk said, and what she was steadily coming to realize:

She liked Lance, a  _lot_.

She wanted to hate him for that too, she realized, because although she concluded that she’d felt that way for a long time, the awareness of it made everything both better and worse.

Better, because she could finally put a name to the inexplicable warmth she felt whenever Lance so much as brushed against her.

Worse, because she could also explain the pit in her stomach when his fond smile turned towards Allura.

Better, because every tic spent in his company suddenly seemed so much more precious.

Worse, because every tic spent apart dragged, at least when they weren’t in the midst of a battle.

“Why me?” Pidge asked herself once, when she sat at her desk, struggling to comb through the data from her latest mission. “Why  _him_?”

Once, before everything went to hell, when Matt calling her ‘Pidge’ still annoyed her, Pidge had a crush on a classmate. At the time she hadn’t recognized it as such, and even then she’d needed both Matt and her mother to explain it to her. They’d reassured her, tried to soothe her distress, and promised she would get over it.

 _“What if I don’t want to?”_ she’d asked.

 _“What if there’s someone better?”_ her mother had retorted.  _“What if there’s someone worth those feelings?”_

Pidge hadn’t understood what she meant, at least not until she overheard that classmate gossiping about her with a few of his friends. And even now, almost three years later, it still hurt to remember that she wasted so many feelings – good and bad – on someone like  _that_.

Was Lance worth it then? Sometimes she thought he was, when she recalled how he’d introduced himself to her and tried to befriend her despite her distance, when he smiled at and teased her, when he put himself between her and an enemy even though he should know she could take it as well as he could.

But now, while in the middle of a war and with her father’s fate still unknown, Pidge couldn’t afford this distraction, so she did her best to put it out of her mind.

* * *

 

Lance’s agitation with Lotor’s presence aboard the Castle was obvious to Pidge, and between his and Hunk’s suspicious muttering, she was ready to tear her hair out.

“And did you  _see_ the way he looked at Allura?” Lance complained a few days after Naxcela, as if there was nothing else worth his concern. “He practically  _leered_ at her.”

“So do you, Lance,” Hunk pointed out reasonably before Pidge could snap something rudely.

“But like  _that_?” Lance seemed to  _consider_ Hunk’s words, weighing them as he tapped his chin. “I don’t mean to?”

Quiznak, he seemed  _worried_ , and the very idea that Lance’s feelings for Allura were stronger than a shallow crush prompted Pidge to say, “Would you give it up already?”

“Give what up?” he said, sounding confused.

From the corner of her eye, Pidge could see Hunk’s eyes widen, his head shake infinitesimally, but she didn’t care. “Allura doesn’t like you, Lance,” she said, barely aware of how  _harsh_ her voice sounded. “And besides, don’t you think we have a little  _more_ to worry about  _other_ than someone else being hopelessly interested in the princess?” She glared at him, trying to drive her point home. “Don’t you think it’s more important to consider that we have an  _enemy_ negotiating aboard the Castle, or that Zarkon is still alive, or that someone led us into a quiznaking  _trap_?” Then, suddenly self-conscious under Lance’s and Hunk’s stunned expressions, she stood up and said, “I’m going to call Matt.”

Instead, she retreated to her room, fully aware that she was sulking and  _jealous_.

It was unfair of her, but she still hated Lance for turning her into a hypocrite.

* * *

 

Caught between despair and regret, Pidge locked herself in her room for almost a week after she learned her father was dead.

Matt kept her company for a while, because he felt the same as she did.  _Why weren’t we there sooner?_ was the question on both of their minds, the question that neither of them spoke to the other lest they find an accusation there. Matt was in space longer, and Pidge had the better means. So who was to blame?

Logically, Pidge knew that it wasn’t her fault, any more than it was Matt’s, but guilt still twisted unpleasantly in her gut, so viciously that she could barely bring herself to eat during that week.

At first, Allura brought her food and empathy, but Pidge dismissed her attempts. When she retreated from her room, it just made Pidge feel worse, and she added hurting Allura’s feelings to her growing list of regrets.

Shiro tried too, but he hadn’t been  _right_ since his return. She refused to even let him in.

Keith, even more awkward in social settings than she was, simply sat with her. He tried to force a conversation – mostly small talk, and a reminder to eat – once, but she at least appreciated his effort.

Coran, Hunk, and Lance persisted the longest in trying to draw her out, their efforts ranging from sympathetic – low, soothing tones and promises that she would feel better if she  _did_ something other than mope – to almost  _humorous_ – she might’ve found Coran’s anecdote of his grandfather’s ridiculous funeral funny if her father hadn’t just  _died_.

But Pidge’s shock at how quickly Lance lost his patience with her drew her out of her stupor first.

“What do you want?” she asked him when he opened the door, bearing her lunch.

Lance’s eyebrows quirked and he said, “I’m bringing you lunch.” He stared past her into her room. “Even though you haven’t finished breakfast yet, apparently.”

“Thanks,” Pidge said. She made to shut the door on him, but he stuck his foot in so that it swung open again.

“I need to talk to you,” he said.

“I’m not interested in what you have to say.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance said, scowling. “Because I – and everyone else – am  _so_ quiznaking sick of hearing that.”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Look, I understand that this is your mourning period or whatever, Pidge,” he said, visibly struggling to rein in his temper, “but your avoiding us isn’t going to help you.” When she opened her mouth to interrupt, he plowed on, “And for the last time, Pidge, it’s  _not your fault_.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. “Why the hell would you even  _think_ that? You did everything you could!”

“But—”

“At least take a shower, okay?” Lance said while she continued to stare at him, stunned. He opened his eyes, something softening in them, and for a moment she thought he looked chagrined and a little guilty. “You smell, and, well, I know sometimes we have to remind you to eat, but this is pretty sad. And I hate seeing you like this.”

It meant something that Lance said  _I_ , rather than  _we_ , but in her state, Pidge couldn’t figure out what.

But she nodded, and when Lance walked into her room and replaced her untouched breakfast tray with her lunch, she didn’t stop him.

Later, when Pidge, with hair still damp, attended a meal with her teammates – her friends – for the first time in almost a week, they all made an effort not to look surprised. But her eyes sought Lance, and something inside her softened when he smiled at her, relief obvious in his eyes.

* * *

 

Pidge drummed her fingertips against her desk. Agitation made her restless, and the Green Lion’s purring in an attempt to soothe her didn’t help much.

 _They’re fine,_ she told herself.  _He’s fine._

And they –  _he_ – would be, but she needed to seem them –  _him_ – for herself to believe it.

 _“I can go,”_ Pidge had volunteered. Allura had wanted two other Paladins to go with her, to intimidate a Galra loyalist drumming up support for a resurgence in a remote corner of this galaxy.

 _“No offense, Pidge,”_ Lance had said with a wry smile,  _“but you’re too…_ small  _to look intimidating.”_

 _“Come a little closer,”_ she’d goaded him with a glare,  _“and I can show you how_ intimidating  _I can be.”_

 _“Please, just get a room,”_ Hunk had complained.

In the end, Allura took Lance and Keith with her, and Pidge was stuck pacing either the Green Lion’s hangar or her bedroom.

(She’d tried pacing in the kitchen too, but Hunk kicked her out after a few doboshes, claiming that she was making  _him_ anxious just from watching her.)

But as soon as her computer emitted the alarm, she stood and sprinted for the Black Lion’s hangar.

Pidge paused in the entrance, watching Allura emerge from the Black Lion first, pink helmet tucked under her arm. Lance joined her a few tics later, but as a wide, relieved smile stretched across her face – and before she could step forward to greet them – she saw something that made her heart stop.

Allura leaned up to kiss Lance’s cheek.

Pidge fled, deciding she’d greet them later along with everyone else, as it should be.

* * *

 

Lance never mentioned the kiss that Pidge witnessed, at least not in her hearing. He didn’t brag, gloat, or otherwise imply that it happened, and she wondered if her imagination was so cruel as to conjure something like that.

But the lack of verbal confirmation from him should’ve been her first indication that something was amiss.

Pidge, for her part, was happy enough pretending she saw nothing, instead greeting Lance – and Allura – a little more stiffly than she would’ve otherwise. But they didn’t comment on it, so neither did she.

She couldn’t help paying more careful attention to their interactions though, and overanalyzing every word or touch that passed between them. She couldn’t help the slightest bit of resentment that tainted her contentment when Lance chose to sit next to Pidge on the sofa during their leisure time, so close his arm pressed into hers. She couldn’t help the biting remarks from escaping her lips, but that—

Well, that was no excuse, and never had been.

“I’m sorry,” she told Lance after the latest one. She stood outside his bedroom door, hands clasped together and shuffling her feet. “I…shouldn’t have said that.”

Lance sighed, leaning against his doorframe. “Yeah, I know.”

“You’re a good pilot, Lance,” Pidge said, rubbing her face. “I just…remembered everything from the Garrison and—”

“Listen, Pidge,” Lance interrupted her, and when she looked up he was smiling slightly, almost teasingly. “I know your brain-to-mouth filter is almost as bad as Keith’s, so I forgive you.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His smile widened, even turned into a smirk. “Besides, I knew you didn’t mean it.”

“Then why did you look so mopey when you opened the door?” Pidge demanded, crossing her arms.

Lance averted his eyes, scratching his cheek. “I was taking a nap.”

“Uh huh, sure you were. And  _I_ am a weblum.”

“You can’t prove anything!”

Pidge frowned thoughtfully at him. “Your hair isn’t mussed,” she pointed out.

Lance looked up and ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s because I smoothed it down.”

“Your shirt isn’t crooked.”

“Maybe I straightened it before I opened the door,” Lance retorted.

Pidge scanned him, head to toe, conspicuously enough that he flushed under her scrutiny. When her eyes reached his feet, she smirked slyly. “Then why are you still wearing your shoes?” She leaned towards him. “Are you going to tell me you sleep in those? Or that you bothered to put them on just to walk to the door?”

Lance rolled his eyes at her. “Oh, you just have to be right  _all_ the time, do you, Pidge?” He bent over and untied his shoelaces, then, once he stood upright again, kicked off his shoes. They collided against the wall with two consecutive  _thunks_ , and he turned to face her again with his arms crossed. “Happy?”

“Yes, except…” Pidge tapped her fingers against her leg. “What’s wrong?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said.

“I…really don’t believe that, Lance,” Pidge admitted. She wiped her sweaty palms on her pants and stepped a little closer to him, forcing him to look at her. “Please tell me.” She reached across the dwindling gap between them and grabbed his wrist.

Lance stared at her. “Pidge, I…” He sighed. “Can I ask you a weird question?”

“You just did.”

“Oh, ha ha,” he scoffed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I.” She squeezed his wrist, wishing she was daring enough to take his hand instead. “What is it?”

Lance closed the gap between them, standing so close his toes brushed her shoes, his breath touched her forehead as she tilted her head back to look at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Pidge’s heart stuttered in her chest, her breath catching. In all the ways she might’ve daydreamed kissing Lance, it never happened like this.

It happened when they stayed up too late, alone in his room and playing video games. They would turn to each other at the same time, their eyes would meet, and they would lean in.

It happened in the middle of a tumultuous battle, fighting their way through an occupied Galra base. They would make their last stand, and one of them would grab the other (Pidge couldn’t decide which she preferred) and bestow upon them a frantic kiss, right before a timely rescue from one of their teammates.

It even happened at a party held in the Paladins’ honor, and he would be overcome by emotion at their victory, or at her beauty, and he would kiss her.

But it never happened after she came to apologize for saying something hurtful she didn’t mean, and it never happened after she saw what looked to be a private moment between him and someone else.

“Why?” she asked suspiciously.

“Because I like you,” Lance said, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. Simple, apparent,  _logical_.

It didn’t agree with any of Pidge’s data.

“But I saw you with…Allura,” she said.

Lance blinked at her, looking confused. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

“You,” she said, jabbing him in the chest, “and Allura. She kissed you, didn’t she?”

His eyes widened with understanding, and he actually had the audacity to laugh. When she scowled at him, he only laughed harder. “Pidge, she kissed me on the  _cheek_.”

“And?”

“ _And_ it was because I saved her life from an assassination attempt.” Lance grabbed her shoulders. “Are you serious? We  _told_ you about this!”

Pidge gaped at him and admitted, “I might have…not paid enough attention at that briefing.”

Lance laughed again, and this time relief guided her to laugh with him. They hugged, holding tight to each other, and Pidge said, “I like you too.” She pinched her eyes shut, against the tears that, somehow, still insisted on trailing down her cheeks.

(By now though,  _like_ might be too weak of a word, but it was sufficient for the moment.)

“So…” Lance said, and at the prompt Pidge withdrew enough that she could look up at his face. “ _Can_ I kiss you?”

“Let me think,” Pidge said, pretending to do just that. In reply, she looped her arms around his neck.

Lance met her halfway.

His hands carefully cupped her face, angling it up towards him, but Pidge still had to stand on her toes. The motion almost unbalanced them, but they broke apart, breathless both with kissing and laughter.

“We waited too long for this,” Lance said.

“Don’t make me wait any longer then,” Pidge complained.

Lance happily obliged.

In the end, all Pidge’s daydreaming – whether about traveling through space, science fantasy adventures, or kissing Lance – couldn’t compare to what she lived.

(She would have to remember that; it was almost poetic.)


	33. Gamers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt from the Pidgance Positivity Discord: _Killbot Phantasm 1_
> 
> Modern/college AU, fluff (so much fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168035498138/and-here-weve-got-another-prompt-fill-of-about)
> 
> Also something of a sequel to [this](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167931689988/if-youre-wondering-why-im-posting-three-fics-in) (which is [Chapter 30](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12573632/chapters/29321730) of this fic as well)

After finishing the week’s assignments early on a Saturday morning, Pidge tore the house apart looking for  _Killbot Phantasm 1_.

“Where did I put it?” she grumbled under her breath as she shoved aside books, DVDs, and video games alike. She even tried tugging the bookshelf away from the wall to see if the box had fallen behind it, but she had no luck there either.

Groaning, she pushed the shelf back into place and considered where else it could’ve gone.  _There’s no way it’s still in the Play Station…_ But then she checked anyway.

Nothing.

“Gah!” Pidge buried her face in her hands. “Where the hell is that stupid game?” No box, no disk,  _nothing_ , not even her old notes of cheats, like every trace of  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ vanished without a trace since she played it over the summer.

“Well, it’s an old game anyway,” she complained, trying to convince herself that losing it wasn’t a big deal.

“Did you say something, love?” her mother asked, poking her head into the gaming room, where Pidge crouched against the wall wracking her brains for some idea of where the game was.

“I can’t find  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ ,” she told her.

Colleen stared at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, and then asked, “Why don’t you play  _Killbot Phantasm 2_ instead?”

Pidge crossed her arms. “Matt took that with him when he moved out,” she said, and then added huffily, “Besides, I don’t have a console that would support it since he took that with him too.” She still sort of resented him for winning the coin flip that decided who would get to keep the later generation Play Station.

“Isn’t there something else you can do then?” her mother suggested.

“Something else I can do?” Pidge considered, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. “Yes. Something else I  _want_ to do? Not really.”

“Why don’t you clean your room then?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my room,” she retorted.

Colleen crossed her arms, a very  _pointed_ frown on her face. “Maybe if it was clean you would find the game, Katie.”

Ah, yes, the  _gentle chiding_ voice. Pidge sighed and said, “ _Fine_.” She stood and trudged back to her room, even though she’d already searched all the obvious places there.

Under the bed,  _behind_ the bed, behind her desk, on her bookshelf… She even dug through her sock drawer.

 _I give up,_ she decided. But then she eyed her phone.

“Hello?” Matt answered on the second ring.

“Do you know where  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ is?” Pidge wondered, not bothering with a greeting thanks to this very pressing dilemma. “I can’t find it.”

“Oh,” Matt said. “Uh…I have it.”

“You  _asshole_ ,” Pidge hissed.

“Hey! You’re in college! Do you even have  _time_ to play video games?”

She told him, “I’m ahead on all my assignments.”

“Oh, yes, I forgot how spectacular you are, Pidge,” he said, with only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

“Can you mail the game?” she then asked. “Why do you need it anyway? You have the sequel.”

“But I like the first one better,” Matt said.

“Then you should’ve taken the older Play Station.”

He added, “…all right, maybe not  _that_ much. But anyway, if you want it today, it’s not like the game can get back home instantly.”

That was…reasonable, actually. Pidge sat on her bed, thinking. “Okay, fine,” she said, “but you’d better bring it back when you visit.”

“I solemnly swear it, Pidge,” Matt said, and she could practically  _hear_ his eye roll.

But he would keep his promise; she would make sure of it.

They ended the call not long after that, and Pidge booted up her laptop to check if a library had an available copy she could borrow to sate her at least for the week. The public library was a bust, but surprisingly, the campus library kept copies of some video games at least a year old.

 _Killbot Phantasm 1_ was out, and three weeks overdue.

“You’ve  _got_ to be kidding me,” Pidge said, staring at the screen where red type declared her goal out of reach.

Well, perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause yet, since she could track the overdue offender down. And thanks to her work study appointment as a librarian, she wouldn’t even have to hack the school!

A few clicks later, and Pidge had a name and an address that made her jaw drop when they registered.

“Oh,  _shit_.”

* * *

 

“So we do meet again,” Lance said, smirking down at the short girl standing at his apartment doorstep.

“I’m trying to decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing,” Pidge said, crossing her arms. She looked cozy, dressed in a dark green sweater and bundled in a yellow scarf, her hair tucked into the back.

Meanwhile, Lance answered the door at the sound of a furious knock wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, and the chill was starting to get to him. “Why don’t you…come inside?” he invited her. “I’m kind of cold.”

Pidge shrugged, so he took that as an acceptance and backed away. She stepped inside, waiting silently for him to close and lock the door, but he’d barely turned to face her again when she demanded, “Why haven’t you returned  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ yet?”

“I…what?” Lance said, blinking at her in surprise.

Pidge agitatedly tapped her fingertips against her arm and repeated, “ _Killbot Phantasm 1_. You checked it out, right? And it’s three weeks overdue.”

“Oh,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck, something like disappointment washing over him. “Because I like it and I forgot my own copy at home?”

For some reason, that had her eyes widening in surprise. “Are you…ever going to return it?” she wondered in a milder voice.

Lance smiled, leaning against the wall. “Maybe, since it’s bothering you so much.”

“You’re racking up late fees, you know,” she told him. Then, she seemed to decide something, inhaling bracingly, and reached down to untie her sneakers.

“Uh, what’re you doing?” Lance asked, straightening and approaching her.

“You invited me in, right?” Pidge said, raising an eyebrow at him. “And it’s not finals season yet, so the library is closed today since it’s Saturday, which means you can’t return it, and  _Killbot_ is more fun with a second player any—”

“Whoa, slow down!” Lance interrupted, holding his hands up and  _surprised_ at the torrent of words spilling from her. “What are you talking about?”

“Let’s play a game?”

He blinked at her, brain slow to process. But then he nodded, unable – and unwilling – to keep a wide grin from splitting his face. “Sounds great, Pidge,” he said.

Lance retreated into the tiny living room, waving for Pidge to follow him. She did, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and tossing it onto the sofa without any invitation. As he set up the console with the game, she got comfortable, pulling her feet onto the couch and sitting with her legs crossed.

“You need any help?” she asked.

“You ask me that when I’m almost done?” Lance said, narrowing his eyes at her.

She smiled sheepishly. “Sorry,” she said. “I…forgot myself for a bit there.”

“That’s okay,” he told her. He untangled the wires on the controllers – the console was old enough that wireless controllers hadn’t been the standard when it was released – and walked backwards to sit on the other side of the couch. “Your sword,” he said, passing her the player two controller.

Pidge frowned at it, then eyed him. “Can’t I have player one?”

“ _You_ didn’t set up the game,” he told her.

She rolled her eyes but accepted that without comment.

The opening music played as the game turned on. Lance found the file he’d progressed through the story furthest, but he heard Pidge mutter, “If we were playing at  _my_ house, we would be closer to the final boss.”

“Maybe next time,” he said.

Pidge shot him a look. “Who says there’ll be a next time?”

Lance smirked. “Who said there would be a  _this_ time?”

She actually cracked a smile, and he felt a flash of triumph as she said, “Fine, you got me there.”

They lapsed into silence as the gameplay absorbed them, only speaking to give each other tips – Pidge  _was_ more skilled at this game than he was – or trash talk when the story pitted them against each other. At one point, Pidge’s character was almost cut down by a random minion, but Lance’s swooped in to cover her.

“Told you I’d be the one rescuing you next time,” Lance quipped with a snide smile.

Pidge smirked. “I mean sure,” she said, shooting him a sideways glance, “but this is a video game, and you got handcuffed to a lamppost in  _real life_.”

Lance huffed. “Those are  _semantics_ , Pidge,” he said.

“Then if virtual reality counts,” Pidge said, rolling her eyes, “I’ve saved your ass  _at least_ five more times so far.”

He slumped. “Why can’t I have this one, Pidge?”

“Because I’m in it to win it, Lance.”

“We’re supposed to be working  _together_ here!” Lance whined.

The corner of Pidge’s mouth ticked up in a barely suppressed smile. “And yet, I have more kills than you so far.”

Lance rolled his eyes and hunkered down, preparing to kick her ass.

He lost track of time as they played, but eventually the door swinging open to admit Hunk interrupted them.

“Uh, whose shoes are these?” he called from the door.

Pidge glanced at Lance, a question in her eyes. “Hunk,” he said, shrugging. “My roommate.”

Hunk walked into the living room, eyes widening when they fell on Pidge. Lance paused the game in the middle of a level, right as he said, “Hi, I’m Hunk.”

Pidge looked at him, raising a hand in greeting. “Pidge,” she said.

“New friend,” Lance remarked before Hunk could ask anything  _embarrassing_.

(It would probably be deserved, considering how often he teased him about Shay.)

“He’s overdue on a video game,” Pidge added.

“I’ll return it on Monday,” he promised, rolling his eyes.

“You’d better,” she said.

“How long have you been playing?” Hunk asked, peeking at the television screen.

“Good question,” Pidge said. She glanced at Lance, and when he only stared back at her, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a phone. “Ah, I have a missed call from my mom.” She set her controller aside and stood, walking out of the living room and towards the door without a word.

“Wait, Pidge,” Lance said, hurrying to stand and chase after her. “Are you leaving?”

“I’m just calling my mom,” she said, pointing to the phone now at her ear.

“Ha, right.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little uncomfortable, and a little self-conscious. He returned to the living room – and Hunk – to give Pidge some privacy, and overheard snatches of a quiet conversation once there.

“…at a friend’s house…by dinner…wearing a  _sweater_ , Mom…”

“So…” Hunk said, a sly smile on his face, “how did you meet?”

“Oh, you know,” Lance said, his face flushing, “the usual way.”

“For you, the ‘usual way’ is some exaggerated story of a girl tripping over her own shoelace and you catching her.”

“That happened  _one time_ ,” Lance retorted, “and it wasn’t an exaggeration! I  _did_ catch Allura, thank you very much.”

“And then you used that awful cliché line,” Hunk pointed out.

Lance scowled at him. “You weren’t even there,” he said, “so how would you know?”

“Keith told me.”

“I’m going to kick him,” Lance decided.

“It was a year ago,” Hunk said, reasonable as always. “I’m surprised you even remember, considering how often you say  _oh, Hunk, I think I met the girl of my dreams_.” He pitched his voice higher, hands clasped together at his chest.

“I’ve said that maybe…twice.” He reconsidered, tapping his chin. “Fine, three times tops.”

Hunk snorted. “But seriously, how  _did_ you meet?”

“He called the library by accident a couple weeks ago,” Pidge explained, returning to the living room with her phone still in hand. She had her arms crossed, and she wore a faint scowl.

Lance assumed she was annoyed with her mother.

“And then you…exchanged phone numbers?” Hunk said, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m missing something here.”

Lance turned to glare at Pidge, moving a finger across his neck in a slicing motion, but she tossed him a smirk and, while pointedly directing her attention to Hunk, continued, “Ha, he wishes. He asked for me to pick him up from the historic district. His date handcuffed him to a lamppost and stole his car. Did you ever get that sorted out, by the way?” She finally looked at him, both curiosity and mischief in her eyes.

“Damn you, Pidge,” he muttered.

Hunk, on the other hand, burst into laughter. “Oh, Lance, I  _told_ you Nyma was bad news,” he said. “Oh, my God, I can’t  _believe_ you let that happen!”

“What did you tell him?” Pidge asked, narrowing her eyes at Lance. “How  _did_ you explain that you were missing your car?”

“That I let my sister borrow it,” he admitted. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and added, “Nyma returned it after the weekend; said she didn’t want me to  _press charges_ and that she only took it for a  _joyride_.” He rolled his eyes, to show her and Hunk what he thought of that.

“Anyway,” Pidge started, but Lance quickly interjected, “Are you leaving?”

“Uh…” Her eyes swiveled from the door, and back to the television that still displayed  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ ’s ‘pause’ screen, music softly playing from the speakers. Then she smiled and said, “I guess I have enough time to finish the level.”

“Great!” Lance said, gratified with her answer.

“Well, I’m going to make hot chocolate,” Hunk said after a brief, incomprehensible glance between the two of them. “Anyone else want some?”

“I would  _love_ some!” Lance said as he and Pidge settled back onto the couch, controllers in hand. He looked at Pidge as he resumed gameplay and said, “You should take some; he makes some in a pan. None of that powdered stuff.”

Pidge seemed to agree, for she called to the kitchen, “I’ll take some, Hunk!”

“Got it!”

They quit after finishing that level, saving their progress, and joined Hunk in the kitchen, where he stirred hot chocolate in a pan at the stove. Lance propped his elbows on the counter, standing across from Pidge, and said, “Just admit defeat.”

“No.”

“I saved you from that last boss,” he reminded her.

Pidge frowned at the floor. “Yes, and I saved you from  _many_ more.”

Hunk chuckled, and both of them shot him a glare, silently chiding him to stay out of it. But he only shrugged, without looking the least bit apologetic.

Which was fine, Lance thought as Hunk distributed the hot chocolate into three different mugs. For his part, Lance found a can of whipped cream in the refrigerator and a bag of miniature marshmallows in a cupboard, and Hunk added ground cinnamon and nutmeg to the selection of ‘condiments’.

Pidge put a bit of everything onto her hot chocolate, and she smiled contentedly after taking the first sip, a stripe of whipped cream decorating her upper lip. “This is really good, Hunk,” she said right before taking another sip.

Lance enjoyed his own hot chocolate, generous on the cinnamon but light on whipped cream, which he instead sprayed directly into his mouth while Hunk looked on in horror and Pidge laughed. “Buddy,” he said, wiping any residual cream from his lips, “you should be used to this.”

“Hunk, you’re just like my mom,” Pidge said. She swirled her mug, then idly licked at the whipped cream still on top.

Lance’s face flushed, and he glanced at Hunk, who said, “I’m throwing that out if you don’t finish it.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance consoled him, “I’ll finish it. You don’t have to touch it if you don’t want to.”

“Good,” he said.

Pidge drained her mug and dropped it into the sink, the wide smile she’d worn since Hunk handed her the mug faltering. “I should go,” she said. “My parents are expecting me home in time for dinner.”

“Maybe some time you can sample Hunk’s cooking,” Lance suggested in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice.

“Maybe,” Pidge said noncommittally, but she didn’t sound reluctant so he took it as a victory.

He walked her to the door, leaving Hunk behind them, and while she stuffed her feet back into her shoes and tightened the laces, she said, “Well, that was fun.”

“You sound surprised,” Lance said.

“I kind of am,” she admitted. She stood at the door, her back to him, but looked back over her shoulder at him with a slight smile. “I guess I’ll…see you around?”

“I guess,” Lance agreed, matching her tone.

Her smile widened, a dimple showing on one cheek, and she opened the door and left. Lance watched her go until she was out of sight, despite the cooler weather since the sun had since set. He closed and locked the door up again, jumping when he saw Hunk standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Jesus, Hunk,” Lance said, pressing a hand to his chest. “You move quietly for a big guy sometimes, you know that?”

Hunk rolled his eyes, then smirked. “Thanks,” he said. “But you know what this means, right?”

“…no?”

“It means that I have revenge for every time you mention Shay.”

Lance scoffed, “No, it doesn’t. Pidge is just a new friend.”

“You say that now,” said Hunk, pointing at him, “but just you wait, right?” Without another ominous word, he retreated towards his bedroom.

Lance put his words, unimportant as they were, out of his mind. He returned to the living room, starting to put away the controllers abandoned on the sofa before he or Hunk tripped over the wires. But then he spotted the strip of yellow fabric bundled up at the end of the sofa.

He unfurled Pidge’s scarf and, humming to himself, looped it around his neck. He’d have to remember to give it back next time he saw her.

And there  _would_ be a next time, Lance thought, grinning. After all, he would return  _Killbot Phantasm 1_ to the library on Monday, and Pidge just might be there to witness it.


	34. The Culmination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random prompt from a person that shall remain anonymous, about pre-wedding plance
> 
> Canon compliant (maybe), fluff and a teeny tiny bit of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168039964673/older-pidge-and-lance-get-engaged-but-with-the)

“Where do you want the wedding?” Allura asked. She trailed behind Pidge, who stalked around the Castle looking for her favorite tablet. She had been so  _sure_ she left it on her bedside table…

“Uh, Earth?” Pidge said. She was only half-focused on Allura’s questions; they came too fast, and she barely gave her a chance to answer them before plowing on to the next one.

“Hmm, well, your species has  _just_ make first contact,” Allura reminded her, tapping her own tablet with a stylus thoughtfully, “so are you  _sure_ about that? Aren’t you worried the variety of guests will overwhelm your government?”

Pidge halted in her tracks, eyes widening in horror. “Wait,  _what_?” she said, turning her head to stare at Allura. “ _Overwhelm–_?  _What_?”

“Well,” Allura said, smiling at her, “how many people  _did_ you plan on inviting?”

“I…I don’t know!” Pidge said.  _Quiznak_ , she and Lance got engaged  _two quintants_ ago, and she’d only had the time to share the news with her brother and father so far, let alone discuss the wedding’s  _guest list_.

(Or even if they wanted to  _have_ a wedding, something Pidge…wasn’t too sure of.)

“Really, Pidge?” Allura frowned disapprovingly at her. “You and Lance haven’t discussed this yet?”

“It’s been  _two days_ ,” Pidge pointed out, wringing the hem of her shirt. “We’ve barely  _seen_ each other in the last two days, since he and Keith are off on a mission, and I’m here, and—”

“All right, calm down,” Allura said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right, and this  _is_ a bit hasty of me, but…” She clapped her hands together, looking for all intents and purposes like a child in a candy store. “Oh, we haven’t had a proper wedding in the Castle since  _before_ —” She cut herself off, sobering immediately, and cleared her throat. “Anyway, I would suggest you take some time to talk about these things, Pidge.”

“Right,” Pidge said, forcing a smile. “Of course.”

* * *

 

“Of course I want to have a wedding,” Lance said, hands loose on the Red Lion’s controls while he spoke to Keith. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Don’t know,” Keith said, shrugging, “but weddings involve a lot of planning—”

“How would  _you_  know?”

“—which means that you have to…think ahead,” he plowed on, as if Lance hadn’t interrupted him.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”

Keith pressed his lips together, and Lance could tell he fought a smile. “I actually got it from Allura,” he admitted.

“So she put you up to this.” Lance sighed, tapping his foot, but he smiled when the Castle came into view. “Honestly, Pidge and I haven’t had the chance to talk about it yet. It’s been…only two days, man.” Still, he hummed cheerfully while guiding the Red Lion into his hangar, the very  _thought_ that he was engaged – to  _Pidge_ – making him giddy all over again.

Pidge was his…fiancée. How  _strange_. If someone told him when he and Pidge first met that they would one day be engaged – that they would  _fall in love_ – he would’ve laughed his ass off; Pidge, the distant scrawny techy boy, his  _fiancée_?  _Absurd_!

(Then again, he wouldn’t have believed them about fighting at the forefront of an intergalactic war straight out of a science fantasy movie either.)

After touching down in the hangar, Lance let Keith leave ahead of him, taking a quiet moment alone in the Red Lion’s cockpit. Even though who piloted which Lion tended to be up for interpretation, it still felt strange flying the Red Lion while Keith was also there.

The Red Lion rumbled in a mild scolding; unlike the Blue Lion, his love was very much the ‘tough’ kind. Lance rolled his eyes and stood, stretching. And once he stepped out of the Lion, Pidge was there to greet him.

She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, her ear to his chest. “Missed me?” he asked her, running his gloved fingers through her hair.

“Like an itch,” she said without any bite.

“Aw, I missed you too,” he said.

Pidge loosened her hold on him but didn’t step away as she looked at his face. “So…it seems we have a problem,” she said.

Lance frowned. “Uh…we do?”

She grimaced and said, “Yeah. We might need to plan a wedding.”

“That’s it? That’s not a problem.”

“It is if it has to be…intergalactic.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “Allura insists.”

Oh no.

* * *

 

“I’m not against a big wedding,” Lance told Pidge. He sat on her bed, swinging his legs while he waited for her to put on her pajamas.

“I don’t think this is a  _big_ wedding Allura has in mind,” Pidge said. She held a hair tie between her teeth while she bunched her hair up into a bun. “It sounds more… _galactic_.”

Lance snorted. “No.”

“Yes,” Pidge said, sighing. Once her hair was piled onto her head, she sat beside him, leaning into him and basking in the warmth of his body. “She made it sound like…it would be  _expected_ of us.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re ‘Paladins of Voltron’,” she said with the appropriate air quotes. “Which makes us  _public figures_ , Lance.”

“Which we’ve kind of been for a while?”

“Yes, but that’s not the point.” She pulled her feet up onto the bed, sitting with her legs crossed. “The point is that our engagement and eventual marriage will be up for public consumption – or, at least, Allura thinks it  _should_ be.”

“Hmm.” Lance seemed to consider that, tapping his chin with a finger. “I don’t think I’d mind.”

“Well, that’s because you  _like_ the attention.”

He scoffed. “You do too.”

“Only in small doses,” Pidge said. She lay back with a huff, the image of herself in a puffy white dress in front of more people – more  _races_ – than she could comprehend entering her mind. She imagined reciting sappy vows while the audience ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’, and hid her face. “Besides,” she continued, “it would be a logistical  _nightmare_. Who’s going to pay for it?”

“I’m guessing not your parents?”

Pidge snorted, removing her hands from her face so she could look up at him with an eyebrow raised. “You’re quiznaking right they’re not,” she said, “ _especially_ if half the universe will be attending.”

Lance laid down beside her, on his side, chin propped in his hand so that he hovered over her. “It wouldn’t be that bad,” he said, grinning teasingly. “Only a  _quarter_ of the universe, maybe a third tops.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s all, huh?”

“That’s all,” he said.

“Almost higher than I can count,” she said, staring at the ceiling. “ _Definitely_ higher than  _you_ can count.”

“Exac—hey!”

Pidge giggled, chest filled with warmth despite the indignant expression Lance wore. But his face softened, and he leaned down to kiss her softly.

She held him there, burying her hands into his hair, which was long enough to curl around his ears. She pulled back from him a little and said, “You know, if we  _do_ end up with a big wedding, you’ll probably have to cut your hair.”

Lance snorted. “As long as it doesn’t look like a mullet, I’m fine with that.”

“Damn, I thought I had you.” Pidge sighed, easing her grip on his head as he looked down at her.

“You really don’t anything big, huh?”

She shook her head. “I’ve…never really thought about it before now,” she admitted, “but I would  _definitely_ prefer something small.”

“Hmm.” Lance returned to her side again as he thought. “Maybe give this idea a chance though?”

Pidge rested her hand on her stomach and said, “Fine, but only for you. And maybe for my mother.”

She only hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

* * *

 

Pidge regretted her concession approximately two quintants and six vargas later, when Allura and Coran started pressing them – but mostly Pidge, because apparently the bride was expected to wedding plan in  _way too many cultures_ – about everything from venue (Pidge decided Olkarion, because it was her favorite place in the wider universe), to the guest list (she and Lance mentioned a few each, including family members, but Allura and Coran took care of the rest), to the food and decorations (Hunk took the task of catering upon himself gladly).

Ironically, the only breathing room she seemed to get – apart from ‘evenings’, blessedly quiet apart from Lance’s usual  _noise_ – was while on missions, which grew fewer and further between as the wedding date – set by Allura on a day considered auspicious for matrimonial occasions by the long-dead Alteans. Then, she could let the Green Lion’s consciousness wash over her, soothing her like a breeze passing through a canopy of branches.

Even Matt got swept up into the frenzy, and by the time Pidge stood on a stool, being fitted for a dress she would only wear  _once_ , she was ready to tear her hair out.

“Why can’t we just  _elope_?” Pidge asked Lance one morning, when she woke up after only a few vargas of sleep because Coran expected her to paint tea cups  _personally_ – another Altean tradition – from which the guests would drink.

Lance was responsible for painting the cups from which the two of them would drink, along with a third meant as an offering to water a tree that they would plant together on Olkarion. Pidge couldn’t help being envious of how  _little_ he had to do – though to his credit he offered to do more.

Allura, though, often found excuses for him not to help, and Pidge had the sneaking suspicion that she was using the wedding planning as a reason to hang out with Pidge.

“Why can’t we?” Lance had his head pillowed on one arm while he examined his fingernails.

“Is that… _agreement_?” Pidge wondered.

He glanced at her. “Is it?”

“You’re no help,” Pidge scoffed, crossing her arms.

Lance reached over to her and rubbed her arm, rough fingertips that he long since gave up on keeping soft and moisturized scraping over her skin pleasantly. “I’m game if you are,” he said, though she detected a hint of disappointment in his voice.

Pidge sighed and decided she would tough it out, for now.

* * *

 

It took Pidge less time than she thought to reach her breaking point, less than five quintants ahead of the actual wedding.

“No,” she said, crossing her arms and petulantly glaring at the wall after Allura’s last question.

“You mean…you  _don’t_  want to spend the wedding night on Arus?” she asked again. “Even though it’s where it all began?”

“No, I do not want to spend my wedding night on Arus,” Pidge said testily, “and I absolutely do not even  _think_ that’s ‘where it all began’.” She stood up, ready to storm out, patience spent. “Do you know where it all began for me? On  _Earth_ , when my father and brother were kidnapped by the Galra. And do you know where I would  _love_ to spend my wedding night?” She paused, half-hoping Allura would interrupt her tirade, but when she just stared at her, eyes wide, she continued, “On  _Earth_ , after I hug my mother and leave my father somewhere safe where he can recover with his wife.”

Pidge turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, ignoring Allura’s call from behind her. She didn’t stop until she reached her bedroom and fell forward onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow.

She sulked for more time than she kept track of, both exhausted and remorseful for losing her temper with Allura… _again_. When a soft knock sounded from the door, she rolled onto her back and, without bothering to ask who it was, said, “Come in.”

Lance walked in, the sight of him a balm on her nerves, and she managed a smile. “So…” he said, leaning against the wall by the foot of the bed. “Allura said you were upset?”

“I could’ve handled it better,” Pidge said. She sat up and pulled her feet onto the bed, wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Yeah, probably,” Lance agreed. He sat beside her, arm around her waist as he pulled her closer to him. He rested his chin on her head and said, “Let’s elope.”

“You want to?” Pidge said hopefully.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “You’re obviously stressed out, and it won’t be worth it if you end up killing Allura. I’d rather not have my wife’s murder trial on our wedding day.”

Pidge snorted, amused despite herself. “All right,” she said. “When?”

“Hmm. How about we take the Red Lion – don’t give me that look, he’s faster than Green – on the morning of our special day?”

“Who’re you going to convince to set up a wormhole?” Pidge asked.

Lance laced the fingers of their right hands together as he hummed thoughtfully. “I can say I want to  _personally_  pick up my family and your mother,” he said, “and you can sneak away with me.” He glanced sideways at her, the familiar hint of mischief in his eyes, the kind that convinced you he was a clever escape artist rather than a goofball.

Though Pidge supposed there was no reason he couldn’t be both.

A slow smile stretched across her lips. “You know what?” she said. “That’s actually a brilliant idea, Lance.”

“Hey, no need to sound so surprised, Pidge,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I have my moments.”

“You do.” Pidge leaned up and kissing his cheek. “Let’s have many more together.”

“Count on it,” Lance agreed, right before stealing a kiss.

* * *

 

“Where the quiznak are Pidge and Lance?” Allura wondered. She paced back and forth across the room, the dress she wore for the occasion swishing in her wake. “Lance was supposed to be back several vargas ago, and Pidge should be  _dressed_ by now.”

“I’ll call Lance,” said Keith.

“I’ll call Pidge,” said Matt.

Both of the left the dressing room, taking out their respective communication devices. She overheard Matt speaking to his father outside in a quiet voice.

A fidget in the corner caught Allura’s sight, and she glanced towards Hunk. He’d been awfully silent the entire time, and he refused to look directly at her, hands clasped together in his usual nervous tic.

“You’re hiding something,” she realized, approaching him.

“I might have forgotten to vet all the cooks,” Hunk said while avoiding her eyes. “There could be assassins. Let me go—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, grabbing his arm.

Hunk paused, looking back at her. “Yes, Princess?”

“Oh, none of that,” she said, forcing herself to smile disarmingly at him despite her irritation. “Do  _you_ know where Pidge and Lance are?”

To her surprise, Hunk admitted, “Yes.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she pressed, “Where?”

Hunk blinked and said, “Las Vegas.”

“Las Vegas? I…don’t know where that is.”

“It’s on Earth,” Hunk explained. “They’re probably visiting Pidge’s mother and Lance’s family.”

“They invited them here!” Allura pointed out, gesturing around the room and encompassing the Castle and Olkarion itself.

“Yes, well…” Hunk shifted his footing, but he seemed to relax as the truth came tumbling out. “Pidge was feeling overwhelmed, so they decided to elope.”

Allura’s jaw dropped right as Matt and Keith returned.

“I know where they are,” said Matt. When Keith nodded his agreement, Allura looked at the two of them properly, noting that neither of them wore disappointed expressions.

In fact, Matt seemed downright  _amused_ , and Keith resigned, as if he’d expected nothing else.

Allura pressed a hand to her face, as if she could hold in her rising frustration and the realization that the very Coalition could  _crumble_ if Pidge and Lance never showed up to their own wedding.

“Quiznak.”


	35. Can Buy Me Love?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Pidgance Month prompt, Day 28: Jealousy
> 
> Modern/college AU, mostly fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168141842998/pidgance-month-prompt-day-28-jealousy-my-parents)
> 
> Inspired by an episode of _Full House_ lol
> 
> Mentioned other pairings: hunk/shay, keith/allura, shiro/matt

 

The fundraising auction was, oddly enough, Coran’s idea, though considering the  _quality_  of the idea, perhaps it wasn’t so strange after all.

“You want to auction off  _dates_ with  _them_?” Pidge said incredulously, waving towards Shiro, Lance, and Keith, all three of whom were woefully – at least in Lance’s case – single.

“I feel like this is human trafficking,” Keith complained, crossing his arms.

“College and graduate students can’t afford to spend money on frivolous things,” Shiro pointed out pragmatically.

“Are you implying I can’t get a girl to date me on my own?” Lance said, voice pitched high in indignation.

“Of course we’re not, Lance,” Coran said. He patted his shoulder comfortingly while glancing at Allura, who rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Do I have to participate?” Hunk wondered, frowning and pointing at himself. “Because I kind of already have a girlfriend.”

“ _Since when?_ ” Keith demanded.

“ _Finally!_ ” said Lance, but he seemed to reconsider for he said, “Wait how come this is the first I’m hearing of this?”

Pidge groaned and buried her face in her hands while everyone continued to speak over everyone else: Lance still offended that Hunk hadn’t told him – his  _best friend_ – that he and Shay were now together, Shiro skeptical of the efficacy of the plan, Keith visibly discomfited by it, and Coran trying to convince them it would be  _brilliant_ so long as they put themselves out there, and Shiro, please, remember we’re also selling tickets to the party!

And as soon as Coran brought up the auction-party itself, they devolved into a whole new round of arguing, cajoling, and complaining.

Pidge took that opportunity to sidle over towards Allura, the only other person in the room not participating in the loud conversation. Allura offered her a slight smile, and Pidge asked, “There’s another plan, isn’t there?”

“I wish there was,” Allura admitted, “but Coran thinks this – as silly as it seems – is the best way to garner interest in the club.”

“Of course,” Pidge muttered.

“ _We_  can bid on them, Pidge,” Allura then mentioned with a sideways glance at her, something sly entering her smile, “if we want to.”

Pidge sensed an implication in Allura’s words, though she was unsure what, exactly, it was. So all she managed to say in response was, “There’s only two of us for three of them. And anyway, isn’t the point of fundraising to bring in  _outside_ money?”

Allura sighed, resting her chin in her hand. “Never mind,” she said.

Despite the puzzle in Allura’s tone, Pidge put it out of her head for now, especially since Allura chose that moment to clap her hands and grab everyone else’s attention.

“All right, everyone!” Allura almost had to shout to make herself heard, as the last threads of conversation dwindled until only Lance and Keith hissed at each other. After a glare in their direction, she continued, “Now that we have our big fundraiser settled, we’ll be starting to plan the actual event. But for now, it’s time to begin Club Voltron’s meeting. The second item on the agenda is…”

Everyone settled into chairs to listen to the club president. Pidge took her usual spot near the front of the room, laptop open on the desk to take the meeting minutes, but to her surprise Lance followed and sat beside her. His presence – far enough that she could only see him from the corner of her eye, but still close enough that she was  _very_ aware of him – served to distract her, and Pidge’s concentration on Allura diminished so much she had to ask her to repeat herself several times.

Allura did so graciously, but not without shooting Pidge a worried glance the last two times.

When she closed the meeting, she approached her. “Is everything all right, Pidge?” she asked.

“Fine,” Pidge said. “I’ll email the minutes to everyone tonight, in case I left anything out.”

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Allura reassured her. Then she added, “Is it the auction that’s bothering you?”

Pidge closed her laptop, the screen clicking shut satisfyingly. “Why would the auction bother me? It’s just a fundraiser.”

“Because”—was it Pidge’s imagination, or did Allura’s eyes flick towards  _Lance_?—“your brother will want to participate?”

She raised an eyebrow at her. “Why would that bother  _me_? It’s not  _my_ fault he’s not a student here anymore. I’m sure he’d want to come to the actual auction though, if that’s bothering  _you_.”

Allura smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “No, no, of course not,” she said. “I’m just worried—”

“Pidge?”

Pidge glanced up at the sound of her name, towards the classroom door where Lance and Hunk – the only two still lingering besides Pidge and Allura – waited for her. Lance waved expectantly at her.

“Can’t you be patient?” Pidge said, making a point to slide her laptop into her backpack as slowly as she could stand.

“No,” Lance said.

She turned to Allura then and said, “I’d apologize for him, but I know he’ll just do it again.”

“Hey!”

Allura only laughed. “That’s fine.” She rested a hand on Pidge’s arm and, after she stood but before she could join Lance and Hunk, she lowered her voice and said, “Pidge, if you ever need to talk, I know it can be… _lonely_  being a girl in your field, so…I’m here for you.”

Pidge blinked at Allura. “Right,” she said, not quite sure what to make of what sounded like a sincere offer. “Thanks.” She forced a smile and, hoping her awkwardness wasn’t obvious, slunk to the door and towards her friends.

“So what was that about?” Lance asked as soon as they walked outside into the cool evening air.

“Just Allura being nice,” Pidge explained. She hunched her shoulders, trying to find a more comfortable position for her heavy backpack, and struggled to keep up with Lance’s and Hunk’s longer strides.

To her surprise, Lance dropped it, not even wondering if Allura talked about him – something he’d wondered often in the last few months, though with dwindling frequency more recently. The question always served to make something hot and unpleasant twist in Pidge’s chest, and she found herself relieved that he’d stopped.

Instead, he asked, “What do  _you_ think of this auction idea, Pidge? You’re the only one who didn’t really say anything.”

“I think it’s wasteful,” she admitted easily.

“Yeah,” Hunk said, nodding in agreement. “I crunched some preliminary numbers at the meeting, and if we assume a budget of $500, then we have to sell at least a hundred tickets at five dollars each.”

“Uh, but what about the auctioning part?” Lance said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“It’ll be a formal event,” Pidge pointed out. “We’ll probably have to up the budget and ticket prices.”

Hunk frowned. “Yeah, this might be a problem.”

“Yes, but what about the money we make on the  _auction_?” Lance insisted.

Hunk patted him on the shoulder, and Pidge, understanding his cue, disguised a smirk as she rested a hand on his opposite shoulder. “Buddy,” he said, “to broke college girls, you’re worth twenty at most.”

“Hey!”

“You’ll probably net more than Keith though,” Hunk said.

“Then that’s not too—”

“Nah,” Pidge said, unable to suppress her amusement any longer. “Girls like that broody look. All they’ll have to do is take one look at him and they’ll put down  _two_ twenties.”

“And Shiro?” Hunk added. “Hot damn, even the grad students will be busting out their stipends!”

“Oh, for  _sure_ ,” Pidge agreed. “I know for a fact Matt would put good money on it.”

That actually got a chuckle out of Lance, the sound of which spread warmth through Pidge’s chest. “All right, fine,” he said. “There’s obviously no way I can compete with Shiro, but—”

“Don’t worry, Lance,” Hunk said. “I’m sure  _someone_ wants to go on a date with you. Right, Pidge?” He shot a glance at her from behind Lance, a smug grin on his face.

Pidge ignored the familiar unpleasant churning of her belly and agreed, “Yeah, right.”

* * *

 

The Club Voltron Student Auction started without a hitch, Hunk’s worries about ‘breaking even’ apparently for naught since they sold a decent amount of tickets to exceed their budget, at least by a little. Keith, a surprising genius when it came to budgeting, bought the perfect amount of everything, and Hunk prepared a meal that at least  _looked_ and  _tasted_ gourmet even if from unspectacular ingredients.

(Pidge agreed, at least, that the garlic bread was to die for.)

Pidge sat outside at registration, taking people’s tickets and directing them to their table. She also had control of the music for the evening, a playlist compiled by Lance with input from Allura to temper his more bizarre selections. She lost herself in the mundanity of the task, passing out nametags and explaining the bidding process, her eyes every so often drifting towards her fellow club members.

Keith seemed surprisingly calm considering that Allura practically strong-armed him into participating, and Pidge wasn’t sure but she suspected that his agreement was entirely contingent on the fact that the bidding for him was rigged.

(She and Hunk placed bets on Allura joining in the bidding for him – though surely she would try to convince them it was for Keith’s comfort.)

Shiro charmed anyone he spoke to, as usual, though Pidge detected an undercurrent of anxiety in him and resolved to make sure that Matt sat with him so that he would have a familiar face with him at all times.

Lance, on the other hand, bounced around with an obvious nervous energy, chatting with anyone that greeted him. He seemed to exude confidence, winking obnoxiously at almost everyone he made eye contact with.

Except Pidge, apparently.

When he met her eyes, from where he loitered with a dark-haired girl Pidge didn’t recognize beyond the registration table, he turned away from the girl and approached her, his smile faltering ever so slightly. “So how’s it going?” he asked her.

“I’m not the one getting pimped out, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I’m not getting  _pimped out_ ,” Lance squawked.

“Someone is paying someone else to go on a date with you,” Pidge said. “It’s a very  _soft_ form of pimping out.” She chewed on her lip, wondering what brought on this sudden wash of irritation.

“Maybe  _you’d_  like to go for a spin then, huh?” Lance wondered, tone dripping with irony as he rolled his eyes.

Pidge’s face flushed against her will, and she pointedly averted her gaze from him, instead opting to greet the next person that held a ticket in hand. After they left with a nametag taped to their chest, she returned her attention to Lance.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” she told him, nodding towards the next person standing in line. She smiled at him, hoping it looked apologetic.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Pidge?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t know,” Lance said, shrugging. “You’ve just been acting kind of weird since Coran brought the auction thing up.” He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious. “You  _have_ been avoiding me. Is it because you have a thing for—"

_Please don’t say it._

“—Keith?”

Pidge’s eyes widened. “No,” she said, staring at him. “Not at all.”

“Oh.” Lance then smiled at her, and it looked different than the one he’d been wearing for the last hour. Less rehearsed, more genuine, more  _fond_.

Pidge returned it without a second thought, heart picking up a faster beat.

“Lance?”

Lance jumped, spinning around, towards Allura, who looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Hello, Madame President,” he said, bowing slightly. “Did you need anything?”

“Yes,” said Allura, glancing from him to Pidge with a slight smile. “We’re about to start serving dinner, so perhaps you should get to your seat.”

“Of course,” Lance said as Allura turned and walked to her own. He then looked at Pidge. “I’ll see you later, Pidge.” He doffed an imaginary hat at her and followed Allura away.

Pidge rolled her eyes, but her smile – despite Allura startling them – didn’t falter.

People still trickled in during dinner, distracting Pidge from her own food, but by the time the meal ended and the evening’s actual entertainment began, she closed the doors and settled into a seat by Hunk.

Coran took that opportunity to introduce the main event of the night:  the auction of dates. A few wolf whistles met Shiro’s introduction, and some modest applause met Keith’s. Lance, of course, wasn’t spared attention, as cheers and whistles followed him onto the stage behind Keith. And Lance being Lance, he basked in it, grinning widely.

It was a nice smile, Pidge thought, but not as nice as the one he gave her before dinner.

“We’ll start the bidding later,” Coran announced, “but for now, take a good look at these handsome young men”—Pidge shot a glance at Hunk and mimed gagging—“and think long and hard about what you would do to spend an evening with one – or all, since there’s no accounting for taste.” He grinned, flashing his teeth, and twirled his mustache. “And now, the Club Voltron board members will be presenting a skit!”

With that cue, Pidge and Hunk stood, Allura approaching from a different end of the room, and joined their fellow club members on stage. Keith stepped aside as Coran passed him the microphone, and he unrolled a ‘scroll’ of paper he’d stored inside his blazer.

“This is the tale of Voltron,” he read with little inflection, “and how they defeated the evil Emperor Zarkon and rescued the beautiful Princess Allura…”

Ten minutes later, the skit ended to applause and laughter as Coran tripped over the hem of his dress and face-planted on the stage. “Now,  _bow_!” he hissed at Allura, halting her from rushing to help him up.

The six of them held hands, with Keith at one end and Pidge at the other, her hand enveloped by Lance’s, and she devoutly hoped he wouldn’t notice how sweaty her palm was. Together they all bowed, and the applause trailed off and they dispersed from the stage to return to their seats.

Coran finally allowed Allura to help him to his feet, and Keith returned the microphone to him. He cleared his throat – after shaking Allura off – and announced, “And now, let us begin the bidding. Everyone hold onto your wallets!

“First, we have the estimable Shiro, Club Voltron’s former president and graduate student representative.” Shiro stood from where he’d  _just_ settled into his chair, smiling and waving, as he returned to the stage and took position beside Coran. “Shiro is a Ph.D. student doing research in Dr. Ulaz’s lab, and wow! Look how strong he is!” He mouthed a word – that looked suspiciously like  _flex_ – to Shiro, who rolled his eyes and held up one muscular arm…and flexed.

Pidge muffled her laughter as a few women in the audience  _oohed_  and  _aahed_ , while at least one person wolf whistled.

“Shiro’s idea of a good first date is the classic movie followed by dinner to discuss the movie,” Coran continued. “An amateur movie critic, is our Shiro.” He smacked Shiro’s back. “Shall we start the bidding at five dollars?”

About three-quarters of the women – and a few men – in the room raised their hands.

Coran kept increasing the bid by five-dollar increments until only one person was left – and, predictably, it was Matt, who stood up and smiled smugly as he walked towards the stage to reclaim his prize. Pidge buried her face in her hands, overcome with secondhand embarrassment, when Matt stole the microphone from Coran and said, “If I had been an idiot and gone to grad school – no offense, Shiro – I would not be able to afford this date. You’re welcome, Club Voltron.” He flashed a grin at Pidge, and she allowed herself to smile at him.

Shiro pressed a hand to his forehead, but he appeared to be fighting an amused smile of his own as he and Matt walked off stage together.

“Next,” Coran said as if Matt hadn’t stolen the thunder out from under him, “we have Keith, the indomitable vice president of Club Voltron.” Keith stood, a strained smile on his face, while Allura squeezed his hand.

Pidge shot a glance at Hunk. “Keith isn’t single, is he?”

Hunk shrugged and said, “Maybe he was when we planned this?”

Coran still announced, “Keith is an astronomy major and a studio art minor. He likes science fiction and true crime, and he may be reserved, but don’t let that fool you into thinking he’s boring.”

Keith shot a glare at Coran but otherwise didn’t comment.

“Let’s start the bidding once more at five dollars.” When half the women in the room raised their hands, Coran amended, “All right, do I hear ten dollars?”

A few more rounds, and Keith went for less than Shiro did…but to Allura, who stood up with a broad smile on her face as she walked onto the stage.

“And sold!” said Coran. “To Club Voltron’s own lovely president, Allura.”

“Thank you, Coran,” she mouthed at him before taking Keith’s hand and leading him off the stage.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Pidge complained. “I would’ve expected her to at least kiss him on the cheek.”

“Maybe they’re not dating,” Hunk said, though he sounded skeptical. “Maybe they just agreed on this since Keith’s obviously uncomfortable.”

“Maybe,” Pidge said, doubtful, though it  _would_ be like Allura to do that.

“Last, but not least,” said Coran once Keith and Allura were once more settled in their seats, “we have Club Voltron’s public relations chair, the charming Lance!”

Lance stood to applause, grinning as he took the stage with Coran.

“Lance is an aerospace engineering major and a theater minor,  _and_ a hopeless romantic—”

“Hey!” Lance interjected.

“—so you just  _know_ ,” Coran plowed on as if Lance hadn’t interrupted him, “he’ll treat you right.

“And we start the bidding at five dollars.”

Pidge held her breath what seemed the entire time Coran continued to up the bidding, and women continued to lower their hands. She clenched her hands into fists, just waiting…

“Do I hear eighty-five?” Coran wondered, staring around the room. Pidge glanced around as well, her eyes narrowing as they fell on the dark-haired girl that she saw Lance chatting with earlier. “Do I hear ninety?”

The girl kept her hand up, smiling up at the stage…at Lance, who smiled back hesitantly.

“Do I hear ninety-five? No?” A single straggler lowered her arm so that only the dark-haired girl’s hand remained. “Sold, for ninety-five dollars, to—”

Pidge’s arm moved of its own accord, shooting into the air and taking her with it so she stood, and to her it seemed a hush fell over the room so that Pidge could clearly hear the pounding of her heart.

“Oh!” Coran exclaimed. “I  _do_ hear ninety-five dollars! Do I hear a hundred dollars?”

Pidge turned to glare at the other girl, heedless of the flush on her face; all she felt then was hot jealousy churning in her gut. But the girl either didn’t notice or didn’t care to notice Pidge, for she kept her hand up.

“Do I hear 105?” Coran asked.

The girl frowned and lowered her hand, and Pidge smirked at the flash of triumph.

“Sold! To Pidge, Club Voltron’s very own secretary!”

Polite applause broke out, jerking Pidge out of the tense bubble as she lowered her hand and realized that she’d just promised over a hundred dollars for a date with Lance. Eyes wide, she walked on shaky legs to the stage, ignoring her friends’ reactions – Hunk’s and Matt’s laughter and Allura’s gasp – in favor of focusing on each step she took.

It took too long to reach the stage, but when she got there she met Lance’s shocked gaze. She wasn’t sure what she read there, but her heart beat just a little faster when she saw no disappointment.

They just…stared at each other. Her cheeks still burned, her heart still pounded, and Lance smiled at her, tentative.

“And that concludes the bidding,” Coran announced, bursting their bubble.

Pidge sighed, relaxing, as Coran closed the event and she walked off stage with Lance. He took her arm, and took her aside.

“Why?” he asked her. “Because apparently I’m quite the hot commodity.” He popped the collar of his jacket, smirking, but it faltered when he saw the look on her face.

Pidge opened her mouth, at a loss for words, but, deciding on straightforward, she finally said, “I was jealous. And…I like you.”

“That’s all, is it?” Lance grinned at her, slowly.

“What else would there be?” Pidge blinked at him, uncomfortable and  _wary_ in the wake of her confession.

“Don’t know,” he admitted, shrugging, “but I wouldn’t mind finding out.”

Pidge didn’t quite follow, but she guessed she would have the opportunity to find out too. So she rolled her eyes.

“And just so you know,” Lance added, “I like you too.”

Pidge smiled and shot him a shy glance, right as Allura approached them and pointedly requested they help with the cleanup…but not before holding Pidge back by the arm and saying, “I knew you’d figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”

Allura smirked at her and, eyes sparkling, said, “That he’s  _your_ prize.”

* * *

 

After cleanup, Pidge declined an offer from Matt for a ride home.

“All right,” Matt said, shrugging before he pointed at her. “Just remember to use a condom.”

Pidge glared at him. “I hope Shiro dumps you before the date.”

Matt laughed and hugged her, and she returned it with a smile. “Ah, I love you too, Pidge.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll see you at home later.”

“See you.”

Pidge found Lance, lingering outside where she expected him. His eyes lit up when he spotted her – lit up in a way that she recognized as familiar.

They’d been doing that for a while, she now realized.

“So what do you want to do for our  _date_?” Lance wondered once she caught up with him and they were meandering down the sidewalk towards the parking lot.

“Shouldn’t you have already had something in mind?” Pidge asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Well, yeah,” Lance admitted, “but it ended up a little…differently than I expected?” He glanced sideways at her.

Pidge smiled. “I’m happy just spending time with you.”

His eyes widened, just a bit, and he averted them in uncharacteristic shyness. After clearing his throat, he said, “Yeah, me too.”

They paused in the light pooled underneath a lamppost, and Pidge wrapped her arms around him in a way she’d wanted to for a long time. He reciprocated immediately, arms wound around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.

Pidge looked up at him, an unfamiliar – but not unwelcome – giddiness flooding her when she saw his face so close.

Lance leaned down and pressed his forehead against hers. “But you know what, Pidge?”

Pidge hummed contentedly, eyes closed as she enjoyed his warm breath on her face, contrasting with the chilly evening air. “What?”

“You could’ve gone on a date with me for free.”

Pidge’s eyes shot open, and she glared at him. “There’s always a second date, right?”

Lance laughed, his thumb brushing her cheek, and agreed, “Right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what Club Voltron does, but let's just assume it's something nerdy/geeky


	36. Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Pidgance Positivity Discord prompt: Burn
> 
> Modern universe, weird atmosphere/fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168313617023/this-fic-2700-words-is-a-fill-for-the-pidgance)

Lance wanders the halls of his old high school, searching for his lockers just for something to do in the endless hours of waiting. It had been way too easy to sneak out of the gymnasium, where the rest of the evacuees took shelter, and past the less than diligent sentries.

The school is quiet and dark, the air, despite being stale and musty, pleasantly cool after the heavy heat and dirty, smoky wind outside. But the shadows stretch deeper than he remembers, though that might just be Lance’s imagination.

Lance finds his tenth grade locker first, right at the corner between two separate halls. There’s that simplistic doodle of a cat in blue Sharpie on the nearby white wall, but a red cat joined it since Lance was last here. He touches the dial on the lock, narrowing his eyes and trying to recall the code, whether the exact three numbers or the muscle memory of turning the dial for a whole year several times a day.

Apparently it’s been too long, so he lowers his hand and resumes his stroll, hands in his pockets and humming an old pop tune that was popular when he still walked these halls by day.

Lance hasn’t been inside this school since the day before graduation – about five years ago – but he still spots classrooms that he knows he spent time in, like his homeroom from tenth grade and where Mr. Harris tortured him with geometry. He walks past posters that have been hanging since before he started ninth grade, and beyond the classroom where he sat in the back during the robotics club meetings that Hunk dragged him to despite his complete and utter lack of interest.

He passes a…a light?

Lance slows down at the sight of a faint, blueish pool of light ahead, beyond another row of lockers. And when his footsteps stop echoing, the soft, uneven clicking of a keyboard meets his ears.

And a frustrated hiss of  _shit_.

Lance sneaks closer until he can see the person illuminated by the light:  a young woman sitting cross-legged on the floor and leaning against the wall, with a sleek computer in her lap. Her round eyes are focused on the screen, and there’s something familiar about the pile of brown hair on her head and even the way she sits.

When it hits Lance, he says, “Pidge?”

Pidge flinches, so startled her head jerks backwards and collides with the wall with a sharp  _thunk_. Lance winces in sympathy as she rubs the back of her head, frowning. But then her eyes snap onto him.

And widen with recognition immediately. “ _Lance?_ ” She sets her laptop aside and stands up, and he sees she’s barely grown taller since he last saw her. “What’re you doing here?”

“Same as you, I’m guessing,” he tells her, shrugging. “Visiting my family, wildfire, evacuation…”

“Yeah, I guess so,” she says. She stares at him for a few seconds, and he holds her eyes, at a loss of what to say. But then she sits down again and gathers her computer back.

It feels like a dismissal, but like the first time they met Lance can’t quite let their potential go to waste. So he sits beside her and asks, “What’re you working on?”

Pidge slides away a few inches, enough that they won’t accidentally touch but not so much that she suggests she dislikes his company. Then she replies, “I  _was_ trying to finish something up for work, but the power went out and, well, there goes the school’s shitty Wi-fi.” She snaps her laptop shut.

Lance snorts and says, “How’d you get the password?”

Pidge glances at him, a hint of smugness in the smile she flashes. “My computer has enough processing power that a simple program can cycle through all the combinations in only an hour, at least assuming the password is short.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at her, amused and warm because it’s wonderful how  _familiar_ this is. “And is it short?”

“Five characters,” Pidge says. “I hope whomever set the password up has something a little longer for their personal accounts, otherwise they make themselves easy targets for hackers.”

He laughs. “You haven’t changed much, Pidge.”

“Oh, uh…” Pidge’s smug grin disappears, replaced by a frown. “I just go by Katie now.”

“Why?”

She shrugs and admits, “I kind of outgrew the nickname, I think.” She pulls her legs up, hugging them to her chest.

Lance frowns and says, “Whatever you say, Katie.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, long enough that Lance gets uncomfortable with it. He squirms, wanting to say something but not sure what, and it doesn’t help that he hasn’t seen Pidge – or, Katie – since high school. And he can’t remember why they never kept in touch, like he did – and still does – with Hunk.

But Katie breaks the silence first by saying, “Did you see Keith?”

That makes Lance smiles, and he says, “Yeah. Firefighter?”

She laughs and adds, “Looks like the rebel finally found a cause.”

They have a good laugh at the expense of Keith, or perhaps at the expense of the Keith they knew in high school.

“So where do you work?” Lance wonders, nodding towards her closed laptop.

“NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab,” she tells him with a smile.

“Living the dream?”

Katie nods and asks, “What about you? You flying planes like you wanted?”

Now it’s Lance’s turn to smile smugly as he confesses, “I’m in flight school now. Once I graduate I’ll be a commercial pilot.” He leans his head against the wall and adds, “Soon I’ll be getting paid to travel the world.”

“That’s great, Lance,” she says, and sounds like she means.

For some reason it rubs him the wrong way.

“So did you…accomplish your goal of marrying a supermodel by twenty-five?” Katie says, tone somewhat teasing.

“Katie, how old do you even think I am?” Lance demands.

“Twenty-two,” Katie says, but then she adds, “But I always thought  _that_ was your most important goal.”

“I still have three years.” He slides a little down the wall, getting more comfortable. “These things take their time, and besides, who says  _I_ won’t be the supermodel in my hypothetical marriage?”

Katie snorts and says, “Supermodel commercial pilot?”

“The whole world is my runway,” Lance quips.

Katie rolls her eyes and turns her face, but not before he sees her smile.

Lance counts it as a triumph.

* * *

 

Lance loses track of the time he and Katie sit in their old school hallway chatting while the world burns outside, but at some point she dozes off, her head falling onto his shoulder and her hair tickling his chin. His own eyes droop tiredly after the emotionally draining ordeal of evacuating with his family. He contemplates checking on his parents in the gymnasium before deciding that he’s too comfortable here, and he doesn’t want to disturb Katie from her doze.

Although it might be deeper than a simple doze, since she snores softly, wisps of air escaping her nose as she breathes and brushing his exposed collarbone. Lance suppresses a shiver, enjoying the warmth of her pressed against his side more than he’d admit to out loud.

Why did they ever lose contact? He and Katie – Pidge – were such good friends in high school, even if she was the girl genius that skipped two grades. Why did he never reach out the summer before they went their separate ways to different universities, or even after that?

“Why not?” he mutters. He keeps his voice quiet, but in the dim, empty hallway it seems to echo off the walls. And Katie, right beside him, shifts.

“Why not what?” she says, just as softly, voice thick with sleep.

Lance’s eyes widen, but he admits, “Why didn’t we keep in touch?”

Katie shrugs against him, but then she sits up slowly, tired eyes averted thoughtfully. “Some people just drift apart with distance, I guess.”

The answer is wholly unsatisfying, and it strikes Lance as untruthful. “That’s it, you think?”

She rubs her eyes and hides a yawn behind her hand. “I don’t know, Lance. It’s not like…you made much effort to keep in touch.”

“Oh, like  _you_ did?” he retorts.

Katie doesn’t look at him. “Fine, we’re both at fault.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why we wouldn’t even try, considering we were friends!”

Katie slides away from him, the distance she kept before she fell asleep on him returning, and she says, “Is that how you remember it?”

“Is that  _not_ how you remember it?” Lance wonders. He runs his fingers through his hair, growing worried and not a little confused.

Katie tracks the motion with her eyes, then she shakes her head and looks at his face. “Lance, we weren’t really…friends.”

“We weren’t?” Now Lance is  _very_ confused, eyebrows quirking up. “Then what—wait, who says  _you’re_ not remembering this wrong?”

Katie crosses her arms and stares at the wall opposite them. “Because Hunk and my brother remember it the same as I do.”

“Wait, you still talk to Hunk?” Lance can’t keep some of the hurt from his voice.

Katie notices. “Yes, I do,” she says. “In high school, all I was to you was your nerdy friend’s nerdier friend.”

“But—”

“Lance, you weren’t  _cruel_ to me, or anything, but we weren’t close at all.” She sighs and rests her arms on her knees, then shoots him a sideways look. “It was a long time ago though.”

Lance meets her eyes, frowning. “I…well, it sounds like you didn’t like it.”

Katie shrugs and says, “I’m over it.” Quieter, she adds, “Probably.”

And Lance doesn’t know what to do with that, but he can’t help feeling a little guilty. But now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember seeing Katie – or Pidge –  _once_ outside of school or school functions, let alone nearly as often as he saw Hunk.

So his memory betrayed him, and overblew whatever friendship he and Katie had.

“You’ve changed a bit, Lance,” Pidge observes, jerking him from his thoughts.

He turns his head to see that she’s looking at him again, and before he can make some indignant retort, he hears the lack of accusation in her tone. It’s an objective statement, and that is all.

“Changed…how?” Lance wonders, because he’s actually curious.

Pidge waves a hand. “You seem more mature.”

“Well hopefully!”

She chuckles and says, “No, I don’t think you get it. You haven’t bragged  _nearly_ as much as I expected you to in the time we’ve talked.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at her. “Oh, yeah? I’m so sorry for failing to meet your expectations, Katie.”

Katie smiles. “Please continue to do so,” she says. “I don’t think modesty will ever fit you, but whatever this is…it does.”

“Maturity?” Lance suggests.

“Maturity,” Katie agrees with a wry smirk.

* * *

 

Katie gets a call on her phone not long after that, from her mother asking to where she disappeared. After ending the call, she stands up, hugging her laptop to her chest, and tells Lance, “It’s almost four in the morning.”

“Huh, really?” Lance takes out his own phone, wincing when he notices all the unanswered text messages from his own family members – and the single missed call from his father. “I guess I should head back too.” He gets to his feet, and together he and Katie meander towards the gymnasium.

When they pass a window, Lance pauses, an ominous orange glow on the horizon capturing his attention. “It’s kind of pretty,” he says, glancing at Katie when he notices her stopping beside him, “in a scary sort of way.”

Katie gazes out at the wildfire burning too close for comfort, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth. And for a second, that small gesture captivates Lance as much as the destructive force of nature raging outside the window, until he shakes himself and sets his eyes on the fire.

“It’s fast,” Katie says. She clutches her computer a little closer, as if worrying it will escape her grasp and jump into the inferno.

“Yeah, it’s kind of poetic, isn’t it?” Lance considers, tapping a finger to his chin.

Katie raises a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Do explain.”

“Well, nature takes time to grow, to flourish, but no time at all to be destroyed.” He narrows his eyes at the burning hills beyond. “One day it’s there, and the next it’s all smoke and ash.”

“Why, Lance,” Katie says wryly – and, unless it’s his wishful thinking, she almost sounds  _impressed_  – “that  _is_ poetic.”

“To be fair,” Lance notes with a shrug, “you’re a programmer, not a poet.”

“Still, I can tell when something looks or sounds pretty.”

Lance tears his gaze from the fire and sees something cooler:  Katie smiling at him fondly. And perhaps what he does next is absurd and possibly fatal, and a mark of  _immaturity_ , but later he’ll say that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

He leans down and kisses her.

Lance expects it to be quick, not least because he didn’t ask for permission, and just a simple brush of lips would be more than enough. But then Katie kisses him back without hesitation, reaching between them to grasp his shirt collar for purchase as she leans into him.

It’s both perfect and awkward at the same time, when their noses bump and they part with a shared, breathless giggle. Katie doesn’t look directly at him, but then she says, “This is a first for me.”

“Kiss?” Lance asks hopefully.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Lance,” she says, rolling her eyes, but she smiles. “No, kissing someone I’m seeing for the first time in years during a wildfire.”

“Oh, that’s new for me too,” he says. “And, I’m honor—”

“I had a crush on you in school.”

“Wait, what?” Lance says, staring at her wide-eyed, taking in her red face. He rests his hand over hers, the one still clutching the front of his shirt. But he recovers from his surprise - though his face is still hot - and says, “Of course you did, because—”

“None of that,” Katie retorts, narrowing her eyes at him. Then she glances down at the laptop she still holds in one arm. “If I wasn’t worried about dropping this, I’d kiss you again.”

“Then put it down?” Lance suggests in what he hopes is a nonchalant voice.

She doesn’t buy it, for she smirks at him and adds, “Also, my mother  _was_ worried about me, so…” She lets go of his collar and grasps his hand instead, their fingers interlacing. She then leads him down the hallway, but not before they glance once more at the blaze outside, the glow that grows larger with every second that passes and every tree that burns.

“I think it’ll be different this time,” Katie says as she drags him away.

“What do you mean?”

“We’ll keep in touch,” she says confidently, but Lance detects a hint of worry in her voice.

“Obviously,” he retorts. He tugs her back before she can get far and bends down to press a kiss to her forehead.

“Lance, if you’re not careful,” she teases as he rests his forehead against hers, “you’ll have to face my mother’s wrath.”

“Then why are you encouraging me?” Lance wonders, nudging her in the side.

“How am I  _encouraging_ you?” she demands.

“Put down your laptop to find out.”

Katie  _glares_ at him, her eyes fixing on his smirk. “I take back everything I said.” She turns to head back to the gymnasium, but she doesn’t let go of his hand.

“Aw, come on, Pi—I mean, Katie.”

That halts Katie in her tracks, and she glances over her shoulder at him. “You know what?” she says, smiling. “I don’t even mind you calling me Pidge after all.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because it’s what my family calls me.” But Pidge’s eyes widen as the words escape her lips, and Lance can tell she never meant to say anything so fond out loud, mere hours after meeting for the first time in five years.

It leaves both of their faces burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as of the posting of this chapter (10 December) i am all caught up to prompts i have filled so far


	37. Not All Wishes Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Pidgance Month prompts: 'Wishes', 'Pets', 'Brothers and Sisters', and 'Hopeless Romantic'  
>  ~~(Basically four for the price of one, or maybe one for the price of four.)~~
> 
> Canon compliant, fluff (so much fluff)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168461167338/24-wishes-4-pets-11-brothers-and-sisters)
> 
>  **Warning** for mentioned animal death

****On his brother’s tenth birthday, Lance made a wish and blew out the candles on the cake.

The cake was chocolate with strawberry-flavored (not strawberry, but strawberry- _flavored_ his sister liked to insist) pink frosting, his brother’s name and birthday wishes written in mustard-yellow icing. Narrow candles of various colors poked out of it, flames waiting to be extinguished.

“Make a wish!” their auntie said, smiling from behind the camera in her hands.

Lance did, pinching his eyes shut and making several fervent wishes – one for each candle. Then, without opening his eyes, he swallowed a big gulp of air – as much as his small lungs could handle without bursting – and leaned forward, exhaling in a great huff.

Seven of the ten candles sputtered out, threads of gray smoke spiraling off the wicks. Lance grinned, still holding his wishes close to his heart, at least until his brother spun around on him.

And Lance knew he was in for it.

* * *

**(#1) “I wish for Javier not to be mad about this”**

Lance’s first wish did not come true; in fact, his brother made his life a living hell – or, that was what he promised anyway – for the entirety of the next month.

After that, well, it was all uphill from there.

* * *

**(#2) “I wish for my own brand-new Game Boy”**

Lance got the Game Boy and a few cartridges to play for his own birthday. He started to think he’d wasted his wishes, one on something that didn’t come true, and one on something he thought might’ve happened regardless.

Oh, well. A new birthday meant candles on the cake, and more wishes.

Except this time, Javier retaliated and blew them out before Lance got the chance.

* * *

  **(#** **3) “I wish for a dog”**

Cecilia named the dog – a border collie and German shepherd mixed – Cerberus, which sounded clumsy off Lance’s too-young tongue. But she told him he could just call him Spot, and the dog would be smart enough to recognize that was as much his name as Cerberus.

Lance adored Spot, who was large enough to take rough treatment from him when he wasn’t careful. He was always quick to apologize when he stepped on his tail or paw, but Spot was quick to forgive him with a bump of his head against Lance’s hip.

“Spot!” Lance called from the back door, staring into the thicket of trees behind his family’s house. “Spot!” He wandered away, the screen door slamming shut behind him, and stepped into the trees at the very edge of the backyard. He stared in among branches thick with summer growth, trying to peer through the early evening shadows.

No one in his family saw Spot since the night of Independence Day, when fireworks rained from the sky.

Lance rattled the bag of treats in his hand, one, two, three,  _four_ times before he gave up, returning back to the house. He wiped furious tears from his eyes as he opened the door and stepped in, sniffing loudly.

When he spotted Cecilia, who loved Spot as much as he did and was always the one to take him on walks, he couldn’t help the surge of hope within him…until he caught sight of the tear tracks on her face and the redness in her eyes.

“You didn’t find him?” Cecilia asked, her voice croaking.

Lance shook his head and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

“I’m calling the shelter,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen for the home phone.

He could hear her making the call after finding the number in the phone book, but within moments the click of plastic as she closed the line sounded.

Lance stored the treats back in their cabinet and sat on the sofa. He reached for his Game Boy and, without looking to see what game he had inserted into it, turned it on. Cecilia sat with him, holding a magazine between her hands, though he noticed she never turned the page in all the time they waited for Javier to come home, with or without Spot.

After Lance lost the same level for the sixth time in a row, he turned off the Game Boy and leaned against Cecilia. She loosely wrapped an arm around him, pressing her cheek to his hair.

“We’ll find him,” she promised, though her voice trembled on the words. “Javier will bring him home.”

* * *

 Javier came home without the dog, face dour, and a few days later the shelter called to tell them Cerberus’ remains were found just outside of town, where he was hit by a car.

Cecilia didn’t speak to Javier – who she blamed for letting him out right before the fireworks – for a month.

* * *

 Lance hoped his parents would agree to another dog eventually; not to replace Cerberus, of course, and even Cecilia favored the idea. Instead, his father bought a few chicks to raise for eggs. And Lance liked them well enough, but it wasn’t the same.

(Later, when Pidge introduces Lance to Bae-Bae – when tears swim in her eyes because she never thought the aged pooch would be alive to see her again – he’ll wish for Spot again.)

* * *

  **(#4) “I wish for a younger brother or sister so that I’m not the baby anymore”**

 When Lance was four he told his parents he wanted a younger brother or sister. They smiled at him – his father ruffled his hair – and informed him they were quite done with having children, that four was more than enough, and that Lance would have to live with being the youngest.

“You get spoiled,” his mother promised – or perhaps warned – him with a twinkle in her eye. “I was sometimes jealous of my baby sister.”

So Lance never got his younger brother or sister, but when he was six his eldest sister’s first child was born.

Rosario named him Ares, because she had a fascination with the stars and her husband didn’t like the name ‘Mars’. She let Lance hold the baby on the second day of his life, when he went with his father to visit them in the hospital. His father made sure he sat comfortably in a chair before gently taking the baby from Rosario and settling him into Lance’s arms.

“Hold his head like that,” said his father, putting Lance’s hand behind Ares’ head. “Let him lie here.” He smiled when Lance eyed the baby suspiciously.

For some reason, it never occurred to him that his siblings could have babies of their own until Rosario told them she was pregnant.

“How do you like being an uncle, Lance?” she asked him after a ravenous Ares returned to her.

Lance shrugged. “I’m not old like our uncles,” he pointed out.

She smiled. “Maybe he’ll be like your little brother instead,” she said. She stroked the baby’s nose and cheek and added, “Maybe he’ll look at you like an older brother, like Cecilia looked at me and you look at Javier.”

“Maybe,” Lance said doubtfully.

* * *

 "Maybe,” he told Ares, who sat next to him with a book about the solar system open in his lap. “Maybe I’ll go to Mars.”

“Or Venus?”

Lance laughed. “Or Venus. Or…Jupiter, or any of the others.”

“Saturn?” Ares asked. He turned a few pages until he reached the one about Saturn. “You can see the rings up close if you go to Saturn.” He glanced up at Lance. “If you do go, can you bring back pictures?”

“Sure,” Lance said, smiling as he ruffled his nephew’s hair. “I can bring back pictures.”

* * *

 (And he will; he just has to figure out a way to explain all the…women in them before he shows them to him.)

* * *

  **(#5) “I wish to go to Pluto”**

With his grades and flight simulation scores, Lance would be lucky to get to the moon, let alone the outer reaches of the solar system, and between Hunk’s weak stomach and Pidge’s distance, it looked less and less likely even when Lance was promoted from cargo to fighter class.

“Look, if we want to get as far as Pluto”—Pidge jerked his head up and away from his computer at that—“then we have to learn to work as a team.” He narrowed his eyes at Pidge, who stared over the monitor and directly at him. “What?” He touched the side of his nose. “Is there something on my face?”

The corner of Pidge’s mouth ticked up in the slightest hint of a smile, but he said, “Nothing that doesn’t belong there anyway.” His attention returned to his screen.

Lance glanced at Hunk, who sat beside him picking suspiciously at the food in his tray. “Listen, Pidge,” Lance tried again, “when I say we should work as a team, that means bonding outside of the simulator.”

“I already know what your favorite food is, Lance,” he said, eyes flicking up to his face.

Lance rolled his eyes. “I mean,  _besides_ the obvious—”

“I know how many siblings you have,” he continued as if Lance hadn’t said anything, “what you got in chemistry, and what kind of girls you’re attracted to.” He pushed his glasses up his nose as he rolled his eyes at Lance. “Am I missing anything?”

Lance crossed his arms. So Pidge was more observant and  _receptive_ to information than he thought, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew next to nothing about  _him_. “Oh, and what about you, Mr. Secretive Communications Guy?”

“What  _about_ me?” Pidge said, tone cautious.

“We know hardly anything about you, and none of the stuff you mentioned knowing about  _me_.” He rested his elbow on the table, leaning across it towards Pidge so he could peer at his face from around the computer screen. “Got any brothers or sisters? What did  _you_ get in chemistry? Oh, wait, you probably aced it like everything else you do alone.”

“Lance,” Hunk cautioned.

“And what  _is_ your type, Pidge?” Lance continued, ignoring Hunk. “Tall? Busty? Long hair?”

“Pretty sure that’s your type,” Pidge muttered, low enough that Lance could pretend not to hear him.

Which he did. “Or perhaps… _male_?”

“Really, Lance?” Hunk said, sounding supremely unimpressed.

Pidge only glared at him before shutting his computer – carefully, so carefully, despite his obvious anger – and sliding it into his backpack. Then he climbed over the bench and left them, his lunch tray virtually untouched.

“Guess I’ll…take care of that,” Lance said, nodding towards it. Shame crept over him, and he realized that maybe he shouldn’t have pressed Pidge that far.

So much for acting like teammates.

“That wasn’t cool, Lance,” Hunk chided him.

“I know,” Lance agreed easily enough.

“You should apologize.”

Lance rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, I’ll go by his room tonight with a nice apology hot chocolate.”

* * *

 Lance kept his promise to Hunk and arrived at Pidge’s door a few minutes ahead of curfew. He knocked and waited…

And waited…

And waited…

Lance knocked again, with more force, but when the door still didn’t open, and no voice from inside called to him, he pressed his ear to it, listening for a sound.

The hall lights shut off right at curfew, blue emergency lights flickering to life, and there was still no sign of Pidge. Lance sighed heavily and returned to his and Hunk’s room, a mug of cooling hot chocolate in one hand.

* * *

From the awe in Pidge’s voice as the Blue Lion fled the Galra ship past Kerberos – a moon of Pluto’s – Lance knew he’d wished the same thing too.

If only they could’ve found that common ground sooner.

* * *

  **(#6) “I wish to rescue a princess”**

Lance lurched forward on reflex, catching the woman as she fell. When she blinked up at him in confusion, sleep trickling away, he had the perfect line ready.

One minute later, she held his arm twisted behind his back, and Lance realized this was not the rescue he was looking for.

* * *

Lance became acquainted with a new sort of fear every time he saw Allura in any danger. First he thought she died, when the witch’s quintessence attack drained Voltron and the Castle of its energy, and then there was Naxzela, and Lance understood what it meant to fear for another more than you feared for yourself.

He was the first one at her side when she fell, and the first to reassure her that she could rescue  _them_.

(He doubts it will be the last.)

* * *

  **(#7) “I wish to be a hero”**  

Almost everywhere Voltron visited, the people there heralded the Paladins as heroes, and if not greeting or thanking them with a parade, they at least showered attention on them

Lance, despite Keith’s incredulity and Pidge’s skepticism, basked in the glow, more than pleased to have his praises – shared with his teammates, of course – sung.

“Why so glum, Pidge?” he asked. He found her standing on the roof of a temple long gone to ruin – though the structure was as firm as ever, the foundation barely crumbled – alone and staring out at the night sky.

This planet had rings, much like Saturn’s, flat-looking slices of stone and ice decorating the sky. Two full moons, one with a distinct blue glow, peered down from just beyond the rings, bright enough that it would be a poor night for stargazing, though stunning nonetheless.

It was a romantic sight, the sort that Lance would love to see with…well, he wasn’t too sure about  _that_ lately.

He shook that thought from his mind as he positioned himself beside Pidge, his hands next to hers on the stone railing ringing the roof, which she grasped tightly while her shoulders were stiff with tension. But she seemed to relax when her eyes fell on him, her fingers unfurling so that only her palms rested on stone, her spine less rigid. She smiled, and for a moment Lance’s breath caught.

He remembered their first meeting, and how much things changed since then, whether in their lives or merely…between them.

“I’m fine,” she said, and he believed her.

But that didn’t stop him from retorting, “Then why were you  _frowning_ ”—he mimed an exaggerated frown—“when I got up here?” He gestured to the beautiful view. “Is it because you can’t see as many stars when there are  _two_ full moons?”

Pidge chuckled, gaze pulled back to the rings and the moons. “No, I was just…thinking of my dad, I guess.” She shrugged, staring at her hands, still so close to his, close enough he could brush the side of his hand against the side of hers and it would seem like an accident.

(A peculiar thought.)

“That’s it?” Lance said, raising a skeptical eyebrow at her.

Her eyes darted to his face before shifting away again. “They think we’re heroes,” she said.

“We are,” Lance told her, confusion in his voice.

Pidge turned so that her back was pressed to the railing. “Are we?” she said. “Are we heroes if we’re not even  _done_ yet? And what happens with Voltron after the Empire falls anyway? To be a peace ‘enforcer’?” She stuck air quotes around that last word, lips twisted bitterly. “Wouldn’t it undermine all of Allura’s efforts of  _peace_ if Voltron stayed…intact?”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “What’re you saying?”

Pidge met his eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging. “I’m just overthinking things, like usual.”

Lance touched her elbow. “You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he reassured her, smiling.

To his relief, she returned his smile. “Thanks, Lance,” she said. “I know I don’t show I…appreciate you – any of you – enough, so I’m…grateful to hear that.”

“Anytime, Pidge,” he said.

They held each other’s gazes for a few seconds, long enough that Lance started to get uncomfortable, though he was reluctant to look away first, too busy admiring the way her eyes reflected the light of the moons, and how—

Pidge grasped his chin in firm fingers, tilting his head down, as she leaned up and kissed him.

Lance inhaled sharply, shocked for only the short moment when time seemed to freeze, when the rings circling this planet didn’t crumble and clump, and the moons didn’t change phases, and the temple didn’t fall to ruin.

Time resumed – or perhaps  _renewed_ – when Lance finally returned the soft pressure of Pidge’s lips, his hands cupping her soft cheeks as he leaned his head down. Something in his head and in his heart clicked into place at Pidge’s touch against the back of his neck, and at the feeling of her warm breath spreading across his face.

When they parted to breathe, Lance rested his forehead against Pidge’s, her wide smile so obvious this close to her face. She reached up, tracing a fingertip along his hairline, and he asked, “What’re you doing?”

“Not overthinking so much,” Pidge said as she leaned up to kiss him again.

* * *

The next time Lance emerged from a healing pod after an injury in the side, Pidge stood ready to catch him. “You’re  _my_ hero, Pidge,” he teased, still half-delirious from sleep and whatever was in the air he breathed during his medically induced coma.

Pidge rolled her eyes and helped him find his feet.

* * *

  **(#8) “I wish to have the nicest ride”**  

“Just admit it, Pidge.”

“No.”

“Come  _ooooon_. Search yourself; you know it to be true!”

“Uh, no, I actually don’t.”

“ _Pidge!_ ”

Pidge rolled her eyes at his needling, though she didn’t look towards him, too intent on the enemy ahead of them. Her face on his screen concentrated on the battle, though she didn’t make much effort to ignore him.

“If you don’t admit it,” Lance said with a smirk, “you’ll be on your own.”

“ _Lance_!” Shiro’s voice yelled in his ear, the start of an imminent scolding.

Lance hissed a curse under his breath; he’d thought he and Pidge were using a private frequency. “I’m coming in, Pidge,” he said, steering the Blue Lion after Green.

“Good to have you and your  _superior_ Lion, Lance,” Pidge quipped as he lunged past her at the Galra battle cruiser bearing down on them.

“So you admit it?” Lance asked. He shot laser fire at the flyers swarming Blue’s flanks, not missing a single one.

“In your dreams,” Pidge retorted. Green’s laser fired at a flyer at Blue’s back, one he hadn’t detected.

“Thanks, Pidge,” he said, wiping sweat from his face.

“Anytime, Lance.”

* * *

“Hey, Princess, tell Pidge the Blue Lion is the best Lion,” Lance kickstarted the conversation during dinner. Under the table, Pidge nudged his foot with more force than she usually did, and he flashed her a smirk.

Allura, distracted by a report on her tablet, only said, “Pidge, the Blue Lion is the best Lion.”

“See?” Lance said smugly.

“Allura is obviously biased, Lance,” Pidge pointed out. “She flies Blue too!”

“So I guess that means Blue has two votes, and Green has…how many?” When Pidge only furiously tapped her fingers on the table, Lance said, “Can you count to  _one_ , Pidge?”

“You’re both wrong,” Hunk interjected.

“Let me guess,” Lance said, turning to look at his oldest friend. “You think the  _Yellow_ Lion is the best?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love Yellow and he’s my favorite, but…” Hunk pointed his spork towards Shiro. “I’m pretty sure the Black Lion beats the rest by miles.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, but Pidge seemed to consider this, for she nodded and said, “You know what? I’m with Hunk. So that’s two votes for Black, and two for Blue. Any tie breakers?” She glanced towards Shiro. “Shiro?”

“I vote for Black,” Shiro said.

“Keith will vouch for Blue,” Lance said with growing desperation.

“Keith will vote for Red,” Hunk muttered, smiling apologetically when Lance shot him an indignant look.

“Betrayal!” Lance said.

Pidge then looked at him, a sly smirk on her lips as she kicked his foot, her toes sliding along the inside of his leg and making him twitch. He shot her a look, but she only shrugged and finally glanced away.

Her smirk didn’t falter, and Lance figured he was in for a surprise later.

In that case, he decided he could live with defeat after all.

(And Blue would always be the best Lion in  _his_ heart.)

* * *

  **(#9) “I wish to marry a princess”**

Lance met more princesses than he could count on both hands in space, and, to his surprise, he had no desire to marry any of them.

(Except maybe Allura, once, but he could now dismiss that as a sort of teenage delusion.)

So he felt no disappointment, no lingering regret, when Allura and Shiro announced their engagement. He only told them he was happy for them, that surely they would make beautiful babies together (Shiro’s face flushed a very impressive shade of pink at that), and that he hoped they would still make time for their friends and teammates.

And at this point, the only person Lance could imagine marrying was  _Pidge_.

As soon as that thought entered his mind, it could not be dismissed. It sat there, constantly waiting for him to address it, while on missions and during relaxed evenings, while in meetings and during training, while with his teammates and during time spent alone with Pidge.

They were young, he then thought, so what was the hurry, especially now that the Galra Empire was all but vanquished?

The question still slipped out one evening as they settled into bed. Lance laid back against his pillow, hands underneath his head, while Pidge sat up with her computer in her lap, working on something for her brother and the rebels.

“Hey, Pidge?” he asked.

“Hmm?” she said without glancing towards him.

Lance shifted, trying to get more comfortable. “Do you ever think about going back to Earth?” he wondered.

Pidge’s hands froze over the computer keyboard, and after a second’s consideration she snapped it shut and set it in the alcove in the wall beside the bed. Then she turned so she could look at Lance and said, “Yeah. Don’t you?”

“Yeah.” He sighed, then tugged at the back of her shirt. She rolled her eyes but agreed to his implicit request, lying down next to him until he could wrap an arm around her and pull her against him.

Pidge sighed, but from her it sounded like contentment, as she looped her arms around him. She rested her head on his shoulder and asked, “So what’s on your mind, Lance?”

“Do you want to get married?”

Pidge stiffened, and Lance braced himself for disappointment, but then she said, “Yes.”

“Uh…to me?”

She sat up and glared down at him. “Who else?”

Heat rushed to his cheeks, and his jaw flapped uselessly until he recovered enough to say, “I’m just…making sure. It’s not too soon, is it?”

Pidge smiled and laid back down next to him, her arms snaking around his back and her legs tangling with his. “Let’s go back to Earth first,” she said. “Maybe see our families too, and then… _then_ we’ll talk.”

Lance fell asleep smiling.

* * *

 (“I do,” she’ll say, and she won’t wait for the priest’s permission to kiss him.)

* * *

**(#10) “I wish to come back home after a grand adventure”**

Lance knows it’s a Sunday when he knocks on the door to his family home because of all the cars on the street and the number and volume of voices trailing out from the open window. He can hear laughter and excitement, and the sound of a soccer match on TV while someone jeers in anger at something on the screen.

His heart pounds, and sweat drips uncomfortably down his brow – the humidity seems  _worse_ than he remembers it – and he’s grateful for Pidge’s hand squeezing his own in silent reassurance.

(They visited her family first, and seeing Pidge, Sam, and Matt reunited with her mother stirred jealousy and a longing to be with his own family within him.)

The door opens, and the person behind it still speaks over their shoulder, but as they turn they freeze mid-sentence, jaw dropping in disbelief seconds later.

“ _Lance?_ ” Cecilia gasps as her wide eyes take in his face.

“Hi, Cici,” he says, smiling and raising his hand in a wave. He drops Pidge’s hand and holds his arms out.

Cecilia jumps into them, wrapping her arms around his back and clinging to him. “Do you know how long it’s been, you bastard?” she grits out.

“Uh…” Lance glances towards Pidge, who holds up a hand with all five fingers. “Five years?”

“Yes.” Cecilia withdraws, resting her hands on his shoulders and scanning him from head to toe. “You  _look_ healthy, and strong even—”

“You sound like  _Mami_ —”

“A lot has changed since we last saw you, Lance,” Cecilia says, “and one of those things is that someone calls  _me_ ‘ _mami_ ’ too.”

Lance grins. “Really?” he says. When he left, Cecilia didn’t have so much as a boyfriend, but now…

“Yes,” she says brightly. Her fingers dig into his shoulders, as if reassuring herself that he’s still there, and she looks so  _happy_. “Oh,  _Mami_ is going to murder you,” she singsongs.

“Sounds just like home,” he says with a smile while Pidge chuckles.

“Oh,” Cecilia says, finally catching sight of Pidge – who stayed remarkably silent – beside him. “I’m Cecilia. Who are you?”

“Pidge,” she says, grinning and offering her hand.

When Cecilia takes it and they shake, Lance wraps an arm around Pidge’s shoulders and tells his sister the same sappy words he rehearsed in his head more times than he would ever admit:

“She’s my home away from home, and my next great adventure.”


	38. Penciled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Pidgance Positivity Discord prompt: Eyeliner
> 
> Modern/college AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168668985623/for-the-pidgance-positivity-discord-prompt)
> 
> Also a sequel to [this](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168035498138/and-here-weve-got-another-prompt-fill-of-abou) (Chapter 33 of this fic)

“Campus library. How can I help you?”

The voice on the other end of the line oozed boredom, but though the tone itself was familiar, the person speaking was not. “Yeah, is Pidge working today?” Lance wondered for the fifth time in the last week.

“Who’s Pidge?” the person asked. “There’s no Pidge that works at the library, that I know of.”

Lance sighed. “Not you, apparently,” he grumbled. “Thanks anyway.”

“You’re welcome,” they said, sounding confused.

Lance hung up before they did and stared at his cell phone’s screen, the little ‘5’ beside the library’s number mocking him. He was almost certain that every time he called that week a different person answered, and not a single one was Pidge – or even knew anyone by that name.

Tracking her down was more complicated than Lance ever expected, and to think it had been so easy for  _her_ to find him. Did she not miss her yellow scarf?

Lance unwound the scarf from around his neck and rolled it up neatly before stuffing it into his backpack. The day was unseasonably warm, the sun heating the ground and the air enough that people only wore light jackets.

The clock tower rang the hour, two tolls of the bell, and Lance finally stood and meandered towards his next class.

* * *

 

Pidge stared into the black hole that was her purple cosmetics pouch. The fabric was still pristine, not a single bit of glitter lost, since her mother pointedly gifted it to her as a high school graduation present last spring.

Pidge had yet to use any of the cosmetics stored inside; even the lip gloss remained untouched.

Today’s challenge was eyeliner, a very dark green – almost black – color that complimented the forest green of her dress. The pencil’s tip was as sharp as the day she bought it, not dulled by a single use – or  _attempted_ use, since the idea that her hand would shake while she applied it daunted her.

“God dammit,” Pidge muttered. She pinched the pencil between two fingers and bent close to the bathroom mirror with the tip poised close to her eye. “If I go blind…”

She ignored the sound of the unisex bathroom doorknob rattling as she touched the eyeliner pencil tip to the corner of her right eye. Her eyes watered as she struggled not to blink, but she dragged the pencil along the top of her eyelid all the way to the outside corner. She grinned triumphantly, unbothered by the line’s slight jaggedness – like she would let anyone get close enough to see it!

_And the other eye…_

Pidge put the pencil tip to the inside corner of her left eye, the motion now more awkward from the uncomfortable positioning of her left hand, but before she could draw a new line, a triple staccato knock sounded from the door.

She exhaled. “Patience,” she said, and drew the pencil from one corner to the other.

At the sharper knock, Pidge flinched, startled, and the pencil dragged abruptly across her eyelid and almost to her eyebrow. “There are  _other_ bathrooms on this floor, you asshole!” she snapped, irritated as she capped the pencil and dropped it into the bag. She dug inside for her eye makeup remover and continued, “Unless you can do eyeliner, go away!”

“ _Pidge?_ ”

Pidge froze, hand still rummaging inside the cosmetics bag. She  _knew_ that voice – she’d heard it ranging in tone from cheerful to downright  _panicky_. She withdrew her hand and walked to the door, turning the knob and tugging it open to see Lance on the other side, staring at her with wide eyes.

“I can help with eyeliner,” he said, recovering from his surprise with a shrug and a wide grin. “Since you asked so politely.”

Pidge clapped a hand over her left eye. “I was being sarcastic,” she told him.

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “I could tell.” Without invitation, he tapped her hand, nudging it away from her eye. “You look like you could use some help.”

She examined him for a brief moment, from the somewhat wind-tousled look of his hair as if he’d just been outside to the bright blue backpack hanging from his shoulders. She dropped her hand and said, “I would…appreciate some help.”

Lance smiled and pushed past her into the bathroom, and Pidge let the door fall closed behind her and locked it. He headed straight for her purple cosmetics bag sitting open next to the sink, peering into it. “I never pegged you for a makeup person,” he observed.

Pidge shrugged and said, “There’s a time and a place for everything.”

Lance hummed and found the eyebrow pencil she’d been using, while Pidge stood next to him and grabbed the bottle of makeup remover. She wadded up a bit of toilet paper in lieu of a cotton ball, and after pouring a generous amount of the fluid onto it, she wiped at her messed up eyeliner.

“This is a nice color,” he observed.

“Thanks,” she said. She tossed the toilet paper into the trash and faced Lance. “I’m ready.”

“Good job on the other eye,” Lance then commented, pointing to it. “Not bad for a beginner.”

“And what are you?” she wondered. “Intermediate?”

Lance laughed. “Yeah, probably.” He stepped closer to her, leaning down so that his warm breath touched her forehead, and grasped her chin with a firm hand to keep her from twitching involuntarily. “Close your eye, or both of them so you don’t blink too much.”

Ignoring the strange way her heart beat more rapidly, Pidge did as he asked and held her breath when he touched the pencil tip to the corner of her eye. “So what’re you getting all made up for?” he asked as he slowly dragged the pencil across her eyelid.

“Christmas social for SWE,” she said. She forced herself to unclench her sweaty hands, to try to appear more relaxed.

“What’s  _swee_?” Lance said.

“Society of Women Engineers,” Pidge explained, then she admitted, “I didn’t want to go, but I want to run for board next year, and the president suggested I get to know everyone better.”

“Politics, am I right?” Lance joked. He lifted the pencil from her eyelid and let go of her chin, stepping away from her.

Pidge didn’t know why she missed the heat of his body when he’d barely touched her – or why she should miss it at all.

“You can open your eyes now, Pidge,” Lance said.

Pidge huffed out a laugh that she hoped didn’t sound as strained as she feared. She opened her eyes and stepped closer to the mirror, examining Lance’s handiwork and how it matched hers.

She scowled when his proved to be so much  _neater_ than her own.

Lance laughed when he spotted her expression, wielding the small pencil at her like it was a sword. “You want me to do the other eye too?”

“Yes,” Pidge said immediately, telling herself it was  _only_ for the sake of symmetry.

“You’re not going to ask how I know how to apply eyeliner?” Lance wondered once her eyes were closed again, and she once more exhaled in tiny huffs.

“I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” Pidge remarked, unable to help a small smile.

“Hey, stop twitching,” Lance scolded her. When she obediently fell still – with some difficulty – he said, “My older sister taught me since she couldn’t put it on herself but had no trouble doing it for her friends.”

“Why didn’t they do it for her too?”

“Because she couldn’t ask them to do her makeup before  _every_ family wedding,” Lance explained. “My family’s huge, and we have a ton of weddings.”

“Sounds like a blast,” Pidge said, rather untruthfully since she’d been to one wedding in her entire life and didn’t have much fun.

“They are,” Lance agreed, apparently without detecting any irony in her voice. He lifted the pencil but didn’t remove his hand, though he loosened his grip.

“If you’re done,” Pidge said, opening her eyes and staring up at him, “you can let go of me now.” She didn’t flinch at his proximity – she’d  _known_ how close he stood – but it still alarmed her, made her skin itch in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Lance let go and averted his eyes away from her face. “How’d I do?” He waved towards the mirror.

Pidge leaned towards her reflection, and she and her twin in the mirror smirked. “Bitchin’,” she said.

She saw his reflection roll his eyes and smile. “Well, just be careful you don’t touch your eyes and smudge all my hard work,” he said.

“Good thing it’s not allergy season,” Pidge said. She took the pencil back from him, noting that it would need to be sharpened before the next time – if there  _was_ a next time – she used it, and packed her belongings away. She extracted a black cardigan from her backpack and, after grimacing at the wrinkles in the fabric, put it on over her sleeveless dress.

“By the way,” she said, remembering as she glanced at Lance, who stood by the door as if ready to flee, “do you still have my scarf?”

Lance laughed, and dropped his backpack.

* * *

 

Pidge had a shift at the library the next day, on Saturday. The library stayed open for extra hours as finals week drew closer, and her supervisor scheduled her for more hours than usual when she made the mistake of mentioning how far ahead she was on her homework assignments.

And rather than returning books to their shelves – her  _preferred_ duty – Pidge stood at the circulation desk, manning the telephone and available if anyone needed to check out or search for a book or borrow a school laptop or USB cable. She kept herself busy by pretending to  _look_ busy when no one wanted her assistance, doodling a design of a pyramidal robot and highlighting the corners in blue ink.

“Worthy of being Star Wars concept art?” she asked herself, turning the page sideways to look at it a bit more closely. She shrugged and put the paper down, starting a drawing of something else – she couldn’t be sure yet what would spill out of her pen.

“Is that…Pidge?”

Pidge jerked her head up at the sound of her name, standing up so rapidly that she knocked her chair down. Her face heated up with embarrassment as she searched for a familiar face, and her eyes finally fell on Hunk and, on his other side, Lance.

Lance’s nose and cheeks were red with cold, and he crossed his arms and held himself stiffly. Pidge rolled her eyes and pulled off her scarf, tossing it to him as he and Hunk approached. “You should wear a heavier jacket, you know,” she said.

“It was s-so warm yesterday!” Lance retorted with a slight stutter.

Hunk clapped him on the back, frowning like he’d expected this to happen and was keeping himself from saying  _I told you so_.

“One of the vending machines in the lobby has hot chocolate,” Pidge suggested. She rested her elbow on the counter, resting her chin on her hand and smirking. Sure, Lance looked cold, but there was just something cute and  _endearing_ about seeing him wrap himself snugly in her scarf, tug the top edge up to cover his mouth, and—

Pidge halted that train of thought in its tracks, her smirk faltering. “Do you guys need anything?” she asked.

“We’re just here to hit the books,” Hunk told her. “I’m good, but Lance…?” He looked at his friend, an inquiry – or perhaps a challenge – in his eyes.

Lance pulled the scarf back down – but didn’t take it off – and smiled at Pidge. “I’m good too,” he said. “Thanks, Pidge.”

Hunk rolled his eyes but walked away, off to find a free table, after waving towards Pidge; Lance took a step after, but he seemed to reconsider and doubled back to the counter.

“Did you have fun last night?” he wondered.

Pidge managed a smile even through the weird stuttering of her thoughts, the ones that made her heart race in an unfamiliar way while a warmth filled her chest. “A little,” she said. “I guess the good thing about engineers is that we’re all pretty nerdy.”

“Hmm, well, I’m sure  _you_ are, but I wouldn’t say the same about me.”

“We spent most of a Saturday playing an old video game once,” Pidge retorted, leaning across the counter towards him. “Face it, Lance; you’re a  _nerd_.”

“Take that back!” Lance said, his own face drifting just a little closer to hers.

“I don’t think I want to,” Pidge said, a slow smirk tugging at her lips. “Although, maybe if you buy that coffee you still owe me I’ll take it back.”

“And then I’ll owe you something else,” Lance pointed out.

“You did my makeup for me yesterday,” she said.

“You gave me your scarf.”

“To  _borrow_ ,” Pidge insisted, rolling her eyes, but then she narrowed them at him instead. “You  _are_ going to give it back, right?”

“Of  _course_ ,” Lance said, “as soon as you give me your—”

“Hey, if you don’t need help,” someone interrupted them from the queue forming behind Lance, “can you get out of line?”

Lance stood up straight, and Pidge leaned away, finally conscious of the way they’d been drifting towards each other. “Yeah, sorry,” he said dismissively, rolling his eyes at Pidge. “I guess I have to hit the books too, so I’ll see you?”

“See you, Lance,” Pidge said.

He smiled as he left, though she frowned as soon as he was out of sight and the first person in line came forward with their inquiry.

Pidge helped everyone in line, succeeding in putting Lance from her mind – at least temporarily. But his interrupted comment haunted her, and she spent the rest of her shift preoccupied with it, trying to fill in the blanks herself.

Hunk left an hour before she clocked out, backpack slung over his shoulder with a frown on his face. “Studying that bad?” she asked him when he passed.

“Could be worse,” Hunk said, shrugging.

“Where’s Lance?” Pidge wondered, then noticing what was missing.

Hunk raised an eyebrow at her. “I should’ve known,” he said.

“Known what?”

He shrugged and said, “He fell asleep in the middle of going over our old midterms. Do me a favor and make sure he at least leaves before the library closes.”

“Will he need a ride?” she said, unable to keep herself from worrying.

“We live close enough that he can take the bus or walk,” Hunk reassured her, waving a dismissive hand.

“Sleepwalk?” Pidge quipped.

“Just make sure he’s awake when he leaves,” Hunk said with a laugh. “I’ll see you around, Pidge.”

“Sure,” she said, smiling.

It was only when he left that she wished she’d asked him for Lance’s number…and realized what Lance tried saying earlier.

Pidge clocked out of her shift and, after grabbing her backpack, she wandered in the direction that Hunk came from, scanning each desk for a familiar yellow scarf and blue backpack. And it didn’t take long to come across Lance slumbering on a desk, his head pillowed on his backpack and one cheek turned up towards the ceiling.

Pidge smiled when she approached him and reached out to touch his shoulder to wake him up, but then an even better idea occurred to her. So she dropped her backpack and rummaged inside for the cosmetics bag she hadn’t removed the night before, opening it and grabbing the only eyeliner pencil she possessed.

She uncapped it, smirking to herself, and bent over Lance to scrawl a sequence of ten numbers onto his upturned cheek as gently as she could. By the time she finished, he stirred, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath, and Pidge, deciding her job was done, capped the pencil and stuffed it back into the bag. She grabbed her backpack and retreated as quickly and as silently as she could, heart beating in anticipation…and dreading disappointment.

Her phone buzzed barely an hour later, receiving a text message from an unfamiliar number, and Pidge smiled when she read it:

_So…when can I buy you coffee?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someday i will repost these sequential prompt fills (of which there are three so far) as their own fic. today is not that day


	39. Roll Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a random prompt from a tumblr user
> 
> Canon compliant, so much fluff in so few words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168765121813/plance-pidge-has-a-habit-of-rollingmoving-around)

A nearby dull thump jerked Lance from a shallow doze. He slowly sat up, rubbing the drowsiness from his eyes; he hadn’t meant to fall asleep, only rest - or rather, get  _Pidge_  to rest - for a little while. And speaking of Pidge…

Lance sat alone on his bed, the sheets beside him wrinkled with her imprint the only sign she’d been there, except for the missing duvet… “Really?” he said aloud to the empty room. “You want to work so badly you’d sneak away once  _I_ fell asleep?”

He stiffened in surprise when a soft groan met his ears, and he leaned over the edge of the bed to see his missing duvet in a pile, messy brown hair even messier with sleep peeking out of the top. “Pidge?”

“What,” her voice grumbled from the floor. She picked herself up, still wrapped in the blanket, and turned to face Lance, eyes still bloodshot with exhaustion.

“Did you…fall out of bed?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

Pidge sighed and stood, but rather than leaving like he half-feared, she sat on the bed with him and leaned into his side. The warmth of her body soothed him, relaxed the tension in his spine and eased the worry that she’d eschew rest or even that she injured herself.

“I’m not used to sharing a bed with someone,” Pidge confessed. “Whenever I do, I always end up rolling away from them and falling out. It happened all the time whenever Matt and I had to share a bed when we were kids.”

“And taking the blanket with you?” Lance tugged on the duvet, and she obligingly wrapped it around him, cocooning them both underneath it.

“Something like that.” Pidge rested her forehead against his shoulder. “You’re right though; I did need a break.”

“Still do, I think,” Lance said. He wrapped an arm around her back, hand resting on her waist. “Would you rather sleep alone then?” Not that he wanted  _that_ , since this was easily the most  _comfortable_ he’d felt in a while, but if it was what Pidge preferred…

For a moment, Lance wondered if she fell asleep leaning into him since all he heard was the soft, steady sound of her breathing, puffs of air brushing against his bare arm. But then Pidge shook her head without lifting it from her shoulder, stray strands of her soft hair tickling his chin.

He reached up to scratch at it with the hand that wasn’t at her waist, warmth blooming in his chest. “Well, we gotta figure this out if we’re going to…sleep like this more.” Quiznak, his face flared with heat just from  _saying_ that! He found himself grateful that Pidge couldn’t see it. But he asked her, “What do you think?”

Lance could practically  _see_ the gears in Pidge’s brain turning, slower than usual in her sleepy state, perhaps, but thoughtful nonetheless. Then she lifted her head and looked over his shoulder. “There’s a wall,” she said.

“I’m…not sure I follow?”

“You sleep on the edge,” Pidge explained, “and I’ll sleep closer to the wall. That way if I roll, there won’t be anywhere for me to fall.” She met Lance’s eyes, smiling.

He nodded in understanding. “That should work,” he said.

“Okay, great.” She shifted so that she sat behind him, dragging the duvet off him and away with her, and lying down next to the wall.

“You  _are_  planning on sharing that, right?” Lance asked, glancing skeptically at the duvet she once more hogged.

Pidge rolled her eyes and lifted it, inviting him under with her. When he lay down beside her, she pulled it up, covering them both, before scooting closer to him and wrapping her arms around his torso.

Lance happily returned her embrace, his own arms fitting snugly around her shoulders and his chin resting in her hair. He felt Pidge relaxing against him, her ear pressed to his chest.

He closed his eyes, Pidge’s presence lulling him closer to a fresh doze…at least until she shifted, pulling away from him slightly to look him in the eye and say, “I still want to be the big spoon sometimes though.”

“Oh my God, Pidge,” Lance muttered, resting a hand on his face. “Just go to sleep already.”

Pidge giggled, the fond, pleasant sound the last thing Lance heard before he fell asleep.


	40. Burnout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt from a user on tumblr
> 
> Canon compliant, hurt/comfort and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168778996333/soft-and-fluffy-pidge-is-sitting-at-her-laptop)

Pidge could feel it creeping over her, encroaching into her mind and interfering with her thought process. She could envision it, see mold growing over dendrites and cobwebs replacing glial cells. Rather than electrical impulses dancing along her nerves at peak speed, her thoughts slowed, sluggish, like they waded in a river against the current.

Her worst enemy, her greatest nemesis, worse than Emperor Zarkon himself, evil hellspawn born of failure, frustration, and exhaustion:

Burnout.

Pidge rubbed her eyes, trying to bring them back into focus. Her vision blurred and sharpened, then blurred again when she took off her glasses - her very real and necessary glasses that she’d been forced to get recently. The frames weighed heavy on her ears and added to her physical complaints, but even  _those_ \- everything from her aching back, stiff from sitting up for so long, to her sore knee, banged up after their last mission but not badly enough to justify a varga spent in a healing pod - paled in comparison to the  _strain_ on her mind.

Pidge dropped her forehead and rested it against the cool metal surface of her desk, trying to soothe herself, however slightly. But her mind and body - her half-formed thoughts - still prompted her into action, still told her there was  _more_ she could be doing despite her burnout. So she sat up, put her glasses on, and pulled her computer back towards her, ready to analyze the complex Galra security protocol that would free another mining planet from captivity.

It made about as much sense to her tired,  _annoyed_ brain as it had earlier, which was to say  _none at all_.

“Quiznak,” she hissed, burying her face in her arms while hot, frustrated tears pricked her eyes.

“Piiiiiiidge!” a familiar voice called from the Green Lion’s hangar entrance.

Pidge picked her head up, glancing in that direction. She used her sleeve to wipe her tears away, sniffing, and forcing a definitely unconvincing smile as Lance approached her.

He grinned, waving cheerfully at her when he drew closer, but when he caught sight of her face his lips turned down and he sped towards her. Before Pidge could muster her words, he tightly wrapped his arms around her from behind, body warm and snugly fitting against hers. He pressed his cheek against the back of her head.

Pidge would never admit it to anyone - except to Lance himself,  _maybe_ \- but she liked it when he clung to her like this, or when she latched herself onto him. There was just something  _soothing_ about having another human body pressed against hers, a balm for the mind and a relaxant for the muscles.

Some of the tension trickled out of her as she leaned back into Lance, and his arms tightened around her, sensing her need.

“Guess what?” Lance said, voice soft and close to her ear.

“…did Coran get his hand stuck in something  _weird_ again?”

Lance rubbed his nose - scratching, probably - against the side of her head, then chuckled, the vibration reverberating from his chest into her back. “No,” he said. “Try again.”

“Hunk figured out a way to imitate peanut butter?”

“All right, you get one more guess before I tell you.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but said, “Did you finally find out how to swim in the upside down pool?”

“Oh, ha ha, very funny, Pidge,” Lance grumbled.

For some reason,  _that_ made her giggle, if only because the image of Lance’s last pitiful attempt to swim laps in the Castle’s pool cheered her.

“So…what?” Pidge said, turning her head slightly so that Lance could see her frown. Of  _course_ he would dangle a mystery in front of her without giving her a chance to solve it…

“I love you,” he said, pressing a doting kiss to her forehead.

Pidge’s face flushed, pleased and embarrassed all at the same time, her worries dissolving as easily as sugar in hot tea. “So?” she said, trying to show him how  _unaffected_ she was. “I love you too, so it’s not that special.”

“But  _you_ are, Pidge,” Lance said. He buried his face in her hair. “You’re special, and smart, and confident, and we wouldn’t be able to function without you. And anytime you’re faced with a challenge, it bows down to you, its queen - wait, no, it’s  _empress_.”

Pidge laughed and rubbed her face. “Oh my God, Lance,” she said. “That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“But it’s  _true_ ,” Lance insisted. “And I know for a fact you  _love_ being praised.”

“Well…”

Lance let go of her and moved away, and Pidge missed him instantly…at least until he knelt on the floor next to her, putting him at below eye level in relation to her. He cupped her face, gently, and made sure she met his eyes. “You’re amazing, Pidge, and when you crack this code, we’ll all sing your praises.”

Pidge rested her forehead against his, reaching behind him to bury her hands in his hair. “But especially you, right?”

He smirked. “I’ll be the loudest one.” 

Lance then kissed her, so softly it wasn’t much more than a warm brush of lips, and he pulled back before her eyes even closed. “Also,” he added, with a slow, sly smile, “it wouldn’t hurt to take a break, right?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I  _could_ agree to kicking your ass in  _Killbot_ , if it’s what you want.”

Lance frowned at her. “I was actually thinking of something like–”

“Making out?”

“–a nap.”

“Oh.” Pidge pulled away from him a bit and coughed. “That sounds nice too.”

“All right then,” Lance said cheerfully. He stood up and took her hands in his, tugging her up after him. “And maybe on the way to my room, you can tell me what’s giving you so much trouble.”

“But you always complain that you don’t  _get_ it,” Pidge pointed out as he led them out of the hangar.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like listening to you ramble sometimes,” Lance said, nudging her in the side. “Besides, you  _did_ tell me once that it sometimes helps to explain things out loud.”

“…yeah,” Pidge said, smiling at him. “That’s true.”

So she tried, and Lance listened attentively and asked questions - if rather simplistic ones that required some background information to explain properly - but it helped somewhat, and the problem didn’t seem quite as daunting and frustrating as it had before.

And some things just made more sense after she distanced herself from them for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~tfw burnout~~


	41. Maternity Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt from a tumblr user
> 
> Vaguely a modern AU, fluff with a baby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168803474898/cultofpokeshipping-replied-to-your-post-so-a)

Pidge could never be bothered to maintain a rigid sleeping schedule, a set bedtime with an alarm clock ready to blare in the morning to start her day. When she was in school, before she went to the Garrison, she relied on her mother to wake her up, and staying up late and sleeping in was second nature to her. Even if she woke up early for days at a time, she fell back into her usual rhythm of poor sleeping habits. At least until now, when she yearned for her bed by late afternoon and was forced to wake in the early hours of the morning.

Or, rather, someone  _else_ forced her awake with their needy cries without caring if it was still dark outside or if the timing was  _appropriate_. But Pidge supposed it was unfair to assume that a baby could have any concept of time.

Now she jerked awake in the darkness, the apartment eerily silent, the only light from the digital green alarm clock on her bedside table and the nightlight in the hall spilling in through the cracked bedroom door. She put a hand to her face, wondering what, exactly, woke her; whatever she’d been dreaming was gone too, only an image of lions - of colorful,  _powerful_  beasts - lingering, and even that faded fast.

Reflexively Pidge reached out to the other side of the bed, but when her hand only connected with wrinkled sheets, she frowned and rolled onto her side.  _Where did you...?_ She glanced back at the alarm clock - a few minutes shy of three in the morning, right in time for Sana to wake - and then sat up, swinging her legs out of bed and standing.

Still bleary-eyed from sleep, Pidge wandered out of the bedroom and across the hallway into Sana’s room. She spotted Lance standing by the window with his back to her, Sana in his arms, looking like he was about to start burping her.

“Did she wake you up?” Pidge asked, voice low.

Lance turned, eyes widening when they fell on her. “No, I, uh, set an alarm,” he admitted sheepishly. “I wanted to give you a break, but I guess it didn’t work.”

Pidge smiled, warmed to the core. “Force of habit waking up at this time,” she said, shrugging. She leaned against the door frame, oddly not very regretful that she’d woken for nothing.

Well, perhaps not for  _nothing_.

“Is she asleep again yet?” Pidge wondered. She stepped into the room and towards Lance, where he still stroked Sana’s back after feeding her.

“Yeah, I think so.” He kissed the baby’s shockingly hairy head and gently and easily returned her to the crib, laying her on her back. Pidge still felt that odd shock of jealousy watching him do it, that being a parent seemed to come as naturally to Lance as breathing.

“You have that look on your face,” Lance said, coming to her and poking her cheek.

She swatted his finger away and frowned. “What look?”

“That... _pouting_  look.” This time he prodded her bottom lip, which she now noticed stuck out.

Pidge tried to relax her face, but she admitted, “I’m just...not very good at this, am I?”

Lance took her arm, tugging her out of Sana’s room and back towards theirs. “Good at what?”

Pidge waved around the apartment, gesturing towards its general mess and clutter, towards her belongings - everything from clothes to books to memory storage devices - strewn over every surface save the floor. Except now, baby shampoo and toys and clean diapers joined them.

Not to mention, she’d been on maternity leave for almost the entire allotted six months and was close to tearing her hair out and going stir crazy.

“I hate waking up in the middle of the night.”

“I’ve never met anyone who liked it,” Lance pointed out.

“I want to go back to work,” Pidge said. She sighed and laid back down in bed.

He sat down beside her and started playing with her hair. “There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said.

Pidge rolled onto her side and relaxed, enjoying the slight tugging on her scalp with Lance French braiding her hair (she didn’t bother telling him she planned on taking a shower in the morning and ruining his hard work). “But I’m leaving her,” she said. “Shouldn’t I  _want_ to stay home?”

“You don’t have to,” Lance said, hands pausing. He leaned over her so he could look her in the eye. “I start my leave after you go back to work, so it’s not like she’ll be alone.”

“You’ll get bored,” Pidge said.

“Pidge, it’s not like I’ll be turning into a  _hermit_.”

“What if she starts walking when I’m not there to see it?”

“She’s not even six months old,” Lance said, chuckling, “so why don’t we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

Pidge shot upright, her hair escaping Lance’s grasp as she turned to regard him with wide eyes. “What if she crosses her first bridge without me?”

Lance raised his hands in a conciliatory manner and smiled. “Okay, Pidge, now you’re starting to sound like Hunk.” When Pidge just stared at him worriedly, heart pounding, he sighed and beckoned her towards him. “Come here.”

She did, letting him fold her into his arms, his faint stubble tickling her cheek. “Sana will be better than fine,” Lance told her. “She’ll have your brain and my good looks, the total package. We’ll have to beat back suitors with a sword when she gets older. Hey, you think we can hire Keith as a bodyguard from now?”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, somewhat cheered. “Oh, is that all?”

“...she  _does_ have your eyes.”

She snorted, turning so she could return his embrace. “I’d rather her have your sense of humor.”

“So you finally admit that you think I’m funny?”

Pidge smiled. “I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned it at  _some_ point.”

“You could stand to mention it more,” Lance said, bumping her forehead with his. “But anyway, just because I woke up before you doesn’t make you a worse parent.”

“I know,” Pidge admitted.

“Also, not that it’s a competition,” Lance said contemplatively, “but I will be the favorite one day.”

“Please, Lance,” Pidge scoffed, “I’ll be showing her cool science experiments and playing video games with her. What do  _you_ have to offer? Dumb pickup lines?”

“First of all, they’re not that dumb--”

“Yes they are.”

“--and you married me anyway, and second of all,  _I_ won’t be the one threatening to destroy her friends if they ever hurt her.”

Pidge stared at him, but then conceded, “Okay, you may be right about that.”

“Also I’m actually a good cook.”

Pidge elbowed Lance. “You done bragging so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m never done,” Lance teased, “but for you? To be continued.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but smiled as she lay done and crawled back under the covers. Lance joined her a beat later, tangling their limbs. She could feel herself nodding off, at least until he said, “You know what I miss from before though?”

Pidge cracked an eye open to look at him. “That’s not what we were talking about.”

“Yeah, I know, but I still want to get it out there.”

Pidge sighed but gave him her full attention. “Lay it on me, darling.”

“I miss having sex without worrying her crying will interrupt us.”

That surprised a laugh out of Pidge, and she retorted, “Oh, boy, then you are going to  _hate_ when she starts walking and climbing out of her crib.”

* * *

 

Pidge woke up first - and on a  _Saturday_ , no less - the following morning, and Lance found her sitting on the couch in the living room with Sana awake and wide-eyed in her lap. She read a book about space aloud to her and pointed out all the pictures, explaining them to her even though it would be months still until she could comprehend.

Lance sat beside them, relaxing and extending an arm across the back of the sofa behind Pidge, but she barely spared him a glance.

“...and Jupiter is the biggest,” she read. She guided Sana’s fingers to the page. “Jupiter has this big red spot on it, and it--” She cut herself off and turned to glare at Lance. “What?”

Lance grinned, full of warmth and glad for a day he didn’t have work; he could phone his mother, spend the day with his family...and maybe help Pidge redistribute the clutter at home. “Nothing,” he said. “Tell us more about Jupiter, Dr. Holt.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but smiled as she kept reading with their daughter now sitting between them.


	42. Baked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "We need to talk about what happened last night."
> 
> Modern AU, domestic fluff verging on crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168907913958/we-need-to-talk-about-what-happened-last-night)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~no the title is NOT a pun about weed~~

“We need to talk about what happened last night.”

Lance leaned with his shoulder against the bathroom doorframe, watching Pidge brush her teeth. She didn’t respond immediately – likely because she had a mouthful of toothpaste keeping her busy – but narrowed her eyes at him, which was how he knew what the next words out of her mouth would be.

“Why bother?” she asked, shrugging, once she was done. She swept past him and just across the hall to his bedroom. He followed in time to see her pulling a sweater over her tank top, and she faced him again when she spotted him.

“Because we kind of…shouldn’t have done that.” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “I’m not the one who woke you up at two in the morning because I was craving a cappuccino cake!”

“It didn’t have to be a  _cappuccino cake_ ,” Lance retorted, crossing his arms. “It could’ve been a chocolate cake, or a lemon cake, or—”

“You hate lemons,” Pidge pointed out. She sat at the foot of the bed, swinging her legs and watching him gesticulate with a long-suffering frown on her face. “Besides, there wasn’t enough baker’s chocolate in the kitchen for a chocolate cake.”

“And yet we have so many lemons!”

Pidge snorted, momentarily looking amused before she frowned. “All right, fine, I guess we need a game plan.”

“You bet we do,” Lance said. He sat beside her before falling backwards and covering his face with his arms, eyelids drooping after a night of interrupted beauty sleep.

“So we clean up the kitchen,” Pidge said, tone dropping unhappily.

“Well, yeah.” Lance peeked up at her from between his arms, noting her frown; they’d made  _plans_ , plans that did not involve cleaning a huge mess in the kitchen after a very early morning baking escapade. “But what about the electronic egg beater?”

Pidge hunched over; obviously she still felt guilty – and likely  _none too bright_ – about the damage to the egg beater. “We buy Hunk a brand new one,” she said, “and hope he won’t notice.”

“We’ve got to tell him,” Lance said.

“No, we don’t.”

Lance sat up and looked her in the eye. “Pidge, trust me when I say that  _Hunk will notice_ ,” he insisted. “Also the whole  _building_ knows the fire alarm this morning was  _our_ fault, and he will find out what we did to his kitchen.”

“You mean your  _shared_ kitchen,” Pidge argued. She crossed her arms and avoided his gaze.

“Actually if Hunk was here, he would insist that it’s his and only his.” Lance rested a hand on her shoulder. “I think we should come clean.”

“After we clean,” Pidge said, but then she blinked and added, “Pun not intended.”

Lance rolled his eyes at the pun but nodded. “Well, duh,” he said, shrugging. “Even I’m not enough of an ass to leave that on Hunk. Let him enjoy his weekend with his family.”

Pidge frowned. “Yeah, we…won’t really be enjoying ours.” She glanced sideways at Lance and added sheepishly, “Sorry about that.”

“Hey, there’s still tomorrow, right?” Lance elbowed her in the side until she smiled. “Anyway, the sooner we get it done the sooner we can do something more fun.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Who are you and what did you do with Lance?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a serial procrastinator,” Pidge said. “You’re supposed to say,  _let’s play_ Killbot  _now and clean up the kitchen after dinner_.”

“Maybe I’m getting older and wiser?” Lance suggested. He stood up, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet.

“Oh, you’re definitely getting  _older_ ,” Pidge retorted.

“Hey!” Lance rested a hand to his head, briefly worried he had a gray hair or was starting to bald.

Pidge giggled as her eyes followed the gesture before she stood on her toes and kissed his chin – the closest she could get to his mouth without making him lean down. Lance grinned, chest full of warmth, but before he could close the gap between them, Pidge dragged him out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen – to the mess that was really  _her_ fault.

(Though Lance certainly helped.)

* * *

 

—  **Last Night (or Early that Morning)** —

When Lance prodded her side at God-knew-when o’clock, Pidge buried her face into her pillow, chasing the diminishing threads of a fading dream. She wasn’t sure what it was about – except that it involved space travel – but she knew it was  _good_.

But Lance nudged her again, insistent.

“Lance,” she groaned, “I’m  _sleeping_.”

“Well it’s morning,” he said, his breath hot on her ear.

Pidge lifted her arm and swatted him, but like a fly he persisted, a fingertip tracing the shell of her ear. She hummed, admittedly enjoying the gentle, almost soothing touch, and cracked her eyes open to Lance’s dark bedroom.

“What time is it?” she said, her voice sounding hoarse and thick with sleep. “And why aren’t  _you_ sleeping, Mr. Beauty Sleep?”

“I’m pretty enough that I can afford to take a vacation from it sometimes,” Lance said. When Pidge turned her head, she could make out his silhouette leaning over her. “Also, it’s just before two.”

“In the morning?”

“You’re not as much of a genius when you’re still half-conked out, are you, Pidge?”

Pidge snorted and rolled over and away from him. “I’m going back to sleep,” she said. “If you’re really that horny—”

“What?” Lance squawked indignantly. “I’d never  _wake you up_  for that!”

“Then what the hell do you want?” Pidge eyed him as best she could in her sleepy state in the darkness, her alarm spiking and forcing her into alertness as she considered another possibility. “Is there some emergency?”

“If there was, I would’ve used crash cymbals.”

“You don’t own crash cymbals,” Pidge pointed out.

Lance snorted and said, “I could look up a recording, easy.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Pidge could see his smile outlined by the tiny bit of streetlight that penetrated the blinds when he said, “Can you help me bake a cake?”

Pidge glared at him, irritation forcing her upright so she could face him properly. “You woke me up to  _bake a cake_?”

“I’m hungry!” Lance retorted. “And craving something sweet!”

“You’re a twenty-two-year-old man,” Pidge grumbled, “not a pregnant woman!”

“And, my dear darling love, when  _you_ are in this position I will do my best to indulge you!”

Pidge covered her face with both hands. “Oh my God,” she said. “You’re unbelievable!” Still, she swung her legs out of bed and reached for her discarded cardigan, shrugging it on when a cool draft raised goosebumps on her bare arms.

“So…?” Lance trailed off hopefully.

Pidge grabbed him by the arm and tugged him into the hallway and towards the kitchen after her. “If you think you’re getting away with just  _watching_  after disturbing  _my_ beauty sleep,” she said, “I’m dumping you right now.”

“Pidge, you don’t need beauty sleep,” Lance retorted, though he followed her with as much enthusiasm as usual.

Pidge didn’t bother hiding her pleased – if tired – smile as she flipped on the kitchen lights.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Pidge froze in place after pointing a fire extinguisher’s hose at an electronic egg beater, which was now coated in a fine white powder. The disaster was averted, though the powder from the extinguisher mingled with a generous mess of powdered sugar, butter, cream cheese, and instant coffee grounds.

“Well,” Lance said from across the kitchen, where he held up a paper towel in preparation to clean up egg yolks from the floor, “at least we didn’t trip the smoke alarm.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, a white light flashed, and a high-pitched alarm built to wake the dead blared.

“Lance,” Pidge said, her posture still stiff.

“Yes, Pidge?” he said while he slumped.

“Next time you wake up in the middle of the night, if it’s anything short of an  _actual_ emergency – the kind where someone is hurt or dead – I’m dumping you.”


	43. In Character

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "People are staring"
> 
> Modern AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168912625208/plance-50-please)
> 
> Specific AU referenced [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168849006133/modern-au-where-pidge-and-lance-meet-at-a-con)

Pidge was at the convention for approximately five minutes when she started to get uncomfortable.

“People are staring,” she told Matt, who walked along beside her, browsing the booths and commenting on other people’s cosplay. She side-eyed him and added, “And your cosplay’s not even that high-effort.”

“I’ll have you know I spent a whole day on this!” Matt retorted, tugging on the hem of his jacket. He wore a suit and tie, along with his usual round-framed glasses, and a Superman t-shirt underneath.

“Choosing the outfit,” Pidge muttered under her breath.

“Also,” Matt added, pretending that he hadn’t heard her, “I think they’re staring at  _you_.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, not sure she believed him, and adjusted her mask. Her hair already felt uncomfortably flattened and damp with sweat underneath and she’d been wearing it for less than an hour. Still, between the flowing black cape and the decent stitching bordering the yellow Bat symbol on her chest, this cosplay already proved to be her best attempt yet.

So maybe, if people stared, it was to admire her artistry…or to judge her sewing skills.

Pidge picked at a loose stitch when Matt left her to check out a booth belonging to an artist he liked. She frowned at it, wondering if she’d be missed if she ducked into the bathroom and used her car key to clip it, but then a little girl in a Robin costume approached her.

“Which Batgirl are you?” she asked Pidge.

Pidge’s eyes widened, surprised she was being addressed; she glanced at the girl’s presumed mother, who hovered but smiled when she caught her eye. Then her attention returned to the girl and she said, “Barbara Gordon.”

The girl grinned wide, flashing a gap in her front teeth, and grabbed Pidge by the hand. Pidge started to voice a halfhearted protest – that her brother was nearby and would miss her – but the girl’s mother reassured her that they weren’t drifting far.

Sure enough, the girl dragged her towards another cosplayer, a lean man in a tight black suit; when he turned, smiling when he spotted the girl, he revealed a blue symbol on his chest.

 _Shit,_ Pidge thought.

“Tío Lance,” the girl said to the man while she kept a tight grip on Pidge’s hand, “I found Nightwing’s girlfriend!”

“I’m not…Nightwing’s girlfriend,” Pidge grumbled. She covered her face with her free hand, gritting her teeth.

 _People are staring,_ she’d said, and one little girl had stared a little too hard.

“Oh, so Babs?” the Nightwing – Lance, apparently – wondered, raising an eyebrow at Pidge. He crossed his arms, almost concealing the symbol on his chest.

“Dick,” Pidge gritted out from between her teeth, unsure if she meant it as an address or an insult.

“Can you take a picture with us?” the girl finally asked Pidge. She smiled charmingly up at her, still holding onto her hand.

Pidge looked from the girl, to her mother, to Lance. But then she agreed, “Okay, fine.” And just like that, Pidge found herself in the midst of a Bat family, with a Robin and a…Nightwing.

Pidge stood beside Lance, with the girl positioned in front and between them. “Strike an action pose!” said the girl’s mother.

Pidge raised her arms and balled her hands into fists, imitating a pose, and tried to pull an angry face. She thought she heard Lance laugh – at her, with her, she didn’t know – while the girl’s mother snapped a photo with a cell phone.

Pidge relaxed and even grinned when the photo op was done, but before she could escape though, the girl’s mother piped up, “What do we say, Luisa?”

“Thank you!” the girl told Pidge.

“Oh, you’re welcome,” said Pidge. She was about to turn on her heel and go find Matt when the girl patted her elbow. “Huh?”

“Can you take a picture  _alone_ with my uncle?”

“I…” Pidge glanced at Lance again, who smiled apologetically at her, shrugging; her eyes drifted downwards to the blue symbol, almost against her will, and she forced them up again to meet his. And she said, “Sure I can.”

If nothing else, it would be something to laugh about with Matt later,  _after_ he stopped teasing her.

She stood next to Lance, only for him to wrap an arm around her. When she shot him a questioning look, he retorted, “We’re love interests sometimes, right? Might as well look  _loving_.”

“Whatever,” Pidge said, but she didn’t pull away.

(He was warm and he smelled nice – almost fruity, like body wash…not that it mattered.)

After that picture, Pidge, feeling inspired and bold, suggested, “Why don’t we do another action pose then?”

“Yeah!” Lance agreed enthusiastically. “I’ll carry you like I just saved your life?”

“Wait, what?” Pidge said, staring at him. “Not a chance! Batgirl’s no damsel!”

“Then what did you have in mind?” Lance wondered.

“We stand back-to-back and hold our hands up like this!” She clasped her hands together and raised them, index fingers pointing up.

“Neither of our characters carries a gun,” Lance pointed out, arms crossed and with an eyebrow raised skeptically.

“Trust me,” Pidge said, “it’ll look cool.”

“Okay.” Lance held his hands up like hers, and he stood with his back against hers, not quite touching.

Pidge grinned, actually having fun, at the camera, and the girl’s mother – Lance’s sister or sister-in-law, probably – took a photo again. This time though she said they had to go, and grabbed her daughter’s hand and left after giving Lance a quick hug.

Lance lingered and asked Pidge, “Do you want the pictures too?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Pidge said.

“Great!” Then he frowned and added, “Would you believe me if I said I don’t have my phone on me right now?”

Pidge tried not to be too obvious about the fact that she was half checking him out when she eyed his too-tight, definitely pockets-less, suit. “Yes,” she said, pointedly returning his attention to her face, “I would believe you. Lucky for you”—she pulled her own cell phone from one of the pouches on her belt—“Batgirl has a utility belt.” She handed it to him.

“I’m beginning to feel objectified,” Lance quipped as he typed his number into her phone.

“You’re the one who woke up one morning and decided to put on something without pockets.” When he returned her phone, she sent him a simple text message with her name – which she now realized he still didn’t know – and a reminder to send the photos.

“This was a calculated decision,” Lance informed her, prodding the blue symbol on his chest. “I had to sew this on by  _hand_.”

Pidge squinted at it. “Wow,” she said. “I’m actually impressed.” His sewing was neater than hers.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised…” He narrowed his eyes at her. “What’s your name, by the way?”

Pidge grinned. “It isn’t Babs,” she said, “so why don’t you get your phone and find out? I’ve got other places to be.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Lance said. He rolled his eyes at her but returned her smile. “See you…around?”

She shrugged. “Maybe,” she said, though she didn’t think she would mind.

“You know,” Lance added, flashing her a smirk, “I’m thinking my next cosplay at Wonder Con will be Link.”

“Great, guess I’ll go as Ganon, then.”

“That is… _not_  what I meant at all.”

Pidge laughed, deciding it was time to find Matt before he started tearing up the con searching for her. She waved at Lance as she spun around, almost tripping over the hem of her cape, and blushed when she heard him laughing behind her.

“You okay, Babs?” Lance said.

“Yeah, I…still got it.”

Pidge retreated without tripping again, and when she found Matt – who had found Shiro, who, in his simple Batman t-shirt, was obnoxiously difficult to find – she was still smiling.


	44. Siren Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the dialogue prompts: "You're trembling" / "You could have died"
> 
> Seafaring/sailing AU, angst and a little bit of fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/168918304893/hello-can-you-somehow-do-24-and-32-together-if)

Pidge didn’t expect the water to be so  _cold_.

It almost shocked her out of the fog in her mind, almost made her turn around and swim back to the ship, and it would have…if she didn’t hear her brother’s and father’s voices calling for her to join them.

So she dove.

Head submerged under the iron-colored waves, her vision blurred, but her family’s voices were amplified. Holding her breath, Pidge swam towards them, but she had never been a strong swimmer so her progress was painfully,  _frustratingly_  slow.

The world underwater was gray, green, and blue, everything indistinct since her human eyes were unsuited for the environment. But Matt and her father spoke so clearly, of safety and being together and  _adventuring_ and learning.

Pidge ignored the burn in her lungs, the ache in her head, the expanding numbness in her limbs as she dove deeper. She only felt warmth in her eyes, and she already smiled, anticipating a reunion, telling them how  _happy_ she was to see them, how much their disappearance scared her, how—

Something strong and firm wrapped around her waist and towed her back up. Pidge thrashed, fighting to escape the hold; she turned and clawed at the arm that held her, but they resisted, somehow.

Matt yelled for her then, begging for her to free him, and Pidge kicked at her captor. Her fist connected with a face, but her strength was diminished from fighting water and the dwindling air in her lungs, the blow ineffectual.

They broke the surface, and Pidge gasped for air. “Matt!” she screamed, pushing at the person that held her and turning, trying to dive back down. “Dad!” She could still hear them, their cries for help and rescue, their anguish at having escape wrenched away from them.

“Pidge!” a too-loud voice yelled directly into her ear…

…but Pidge barely heard it, so focused on her family members’. Her captor towed them further and further away, taking away her opportunity to rescue them…what if this cost them…what if she never had the chance again…what if…

Matt’s and her father’s voices finally faded, and Pidge sagged against…Lance, she now saw, his usually smirking face turned down into a frown. He had something stuck in his ears – dripping beeswax – and she remembered.

The tears finally came, burning tracks onto her otherwise cold cheeks, while she let Lance hold onto her, swimming with a power and efficiency she couldn’t even bring herself to envy towards the ship already past the sirens’ rocks. She avoiding looking at his face – what if he pitied her? – and instead gritted her teeth, berating herself for falling for an obvious trap.

At the hull of the ship, Lance tugged on a dangling line. Pressed against him, she could feel him heaving breaths and guessed he would pass out within minutes of being aboard again.

“Grab on,” he said, too loud because he couldn’t hear himself speak over the beeswax still stuffed into his ears.

Pidge did, mechanically obeying in her shock. She shivered as the crew tugged her up and over, collapsing as soon as a sailor grabbed her arms and heaved her onto the deck.

She sat in a soaking wet pile while they helped Lance up. He crawled over to her, frowning, as if to reassure himself he hadn’t just lugged a corpse back to the ship.

“You’re trembling,” he observed as Hunk – one of the few crewmates friendly to her – brought them blankets.

Pidge glared at him, not caring for his pointing out the obvious, and bundled herself with the blanket. An overcast autumn day wasn’t the best time to go for a dip.

Lance rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but the captain wandered over before he could.

“You disobeyed direct orders,” he lectured Lance without sparing a glance for Pidge. “Anyone that jumps after sirens is a dead man.”

“Apparently not… _him_ , sir,” Lance retorted, standing and meeting the captain’s eyes. It might’ve seemed insolent, but he wasn’t smirking.

The captain steadily held his gaze and said, “He’s only a ship’s boy, and I can pick up a dozen more next time we make port. You, on the other hand, are a decent sailor that would be difficult to replace.”

A tiny, self-satisfied smile peeked out from Lance’s forced stoicism, and Pidge snorted, exasperation finally displacing her irritation. “Thank you, sir,” said Lance, and he threw up a salute for extra measure.

Pidge exchanged a glance with Hunk, who still hovered nearby and rolled his eyes. He helped her to her feet when the captain left them, and Lance rejoined them, still wrapped up in his own blanket but looking significantly less waterlogged than Pidge did.

“What were you thinking?” Lance demanded, rounding on her. “You had beeswax! Why didn’t you use it?”

Pidge gripped the edge of her blanket tightly and admitted, “I was curious.”

“Are you… _serious_?” He stared at Hunk, who frowned – looking more worried than indignant – but didn’t say anything. “You could’ve died!” Lance flailed his arms, dropping his blanket in the process.

Pidge scowled at him. “But I didn’t,” she pointed out. “I’m fine now.”

“Did you not hear the captain?” Lance said. “He ordered us  _not_ to go after you.”

“Clearly  _you_ didn’t hear him because you were still wearing your beeswax.”

Hunk snorted, a small amused smile on his face, but when Lance shot a glare at him he hid it behind his hand.

“Obviously I’m glad I’m not dead,” Pidge said, meeting Lance’s eyes, “so thank you, Lance. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Lance glared at her and crossed his arms. “No, but I guess that’s good enough for now.”

“So then if you don’t need me,” she said, turning on her heel so she could toss the last words over her shoulder, “I’m going to take a nap.”

Pidge left them, in search of a rare private spot where she could sulk alone.

* * *

 

No one sought Pidge for the rest of the day, not to get her to serve the captain’s meal or to scrub the deck or any of the other mind-numbing physical tasks required of a ship’s boy. That is, no one except Lance.

Of  _course_.

“What do you want,” she said, tone flat, when she spied him from the corner of her eye close to sunset.

Despite her exhaustion, she’d been unable and unwilling to nap, her brother’s and father’s screams - real or not - still haunting her, and the discomfort she generally felt around the crew out in the open making it difficult to relax much more than to lean against the railing in a secluded part of the ship.

“Just to talk, I guess,” said Lance. Without waiting for an invitation, he sat beside her, careful to keep his distance.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, instantly on guard. “About what?”

“Why are you here?” he wondered, raising an expectant eyebrow at her.

“For a job,” Pidge said, shrugging. It was a partial truth, and she couldn’t even begin to imagine why he’d bother asking.

“That’s not what I meant.” Lance then furtively glanced around, and after ascertaining that no one was – probably – within earshot, he leaned towards her, close enough she could feel his warm breath on her ear, and asked, “Are you a girl?”

Pidge flinched away from him. “What?”

“Are you a—”

“I  _heard_ you the first time,” Pidge said. She searched their vicinity, wary that someone could’ve overheard, before glaring at Lance. “What the  _hell_?” she hissed.

“So that’s a…yes?”

Pidge wrapped her arms around her legs and avoided his eyes. And slowly, she nodded. “How did you guess?” she wondered.  _What am I doing wrong?_ she thought.

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, and Pidge thought she spied a blush on his cheeks when he said, “When I hauled you back to the ship, I felt your…” He gestured towards her chest.

Pidge couldn’t help smirking despite her own mortification, not when she recalled all of his talking big, how he tried to flirt – with limited success – with the barmaids at the inns frequented by sailors whenever they made port. She quipped, “A first time for you too then?”

Lance blushed even redder, and Pidge felt her own face warm at her boldness. He cleared his throat and said, “I won’t tell anyone.”

Oh. For some reason, it hadn’t even occurred to Pidge that he  _would_ , not when he disobeyed the captain to save her from her own stupidity. She clutched the hem of her shirt and inhaled shakily, something like shock stiffening her body.

Suddenly his original question took on a whole different meaning, especially when Pidge thought of her old life, that girls and women usually only sailed in safe waters in summertime, on vessels captained by their fathers and brothers and husbands…rather than in autumn, a time rife with storms at sea, in waters occupied by sirens and serpents…and frequented by pirates.

Pidge relaxed, stretching her legs out in front of her; something about the day’s events emboldened her, that she could survive the sirens’ song and a crewmate discovering such a crucial,  _secret_ facet of her identity. And despite the despair she tasted earlier, despite the disappointment of learning her family was still missing and that her captain would’ve happily left her for dead, she met Lance’s eyes and smirked.

 _Why are you here?_ he’d asked.

Pidge answered, “I’m here to fight pirates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU has been bouncing around my head for a while, so i may expand it into an actual fic someday
> 
>  
> 
> ~~but like that Fogerty guy in CCR says 'someday never comes'~~


	45. Space Is (Not) Hypoallergenic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a prompt posed by a tumblr user that shall remain anonymous
> 
> Canon compliant, sickfic with fluff and little bit of pining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/169060361918/pidge-gets-sick-and-lance-insists-on-being-her)

Pidge should’ve known something was wrong the moment she stood up. Her head spun, and the floor seemed to tilt beneath her while her vision adjusted. She rested one hand on the desk and pressed the other to her forehead, and when the dizzy spell faded she took one step, and then another, walking carefully because of the sudden weakness in her limbs, the way her legs threatened to buckle beneath her.

Behind her, the Green Lion growled, and Pidge didn’t need their loosely telepathic bond to know it was a rebuke. But instead of acknowledging it, she left the hangar, intent on drinking water to soothe her scratchy throat.

It figured that she would have seasonal allergies even in  _space_.

* * *

 

Pidge didn’t show up to breakfast, which wasn’t odd, exactly, since she almost always slept through it unless there was something important scheduled early in the day cycle, but the fact that Lance overheard coughing from inside her bedroom when he was on his way to bed the evening before worried him.

“Has anyone seen Pidge yet today?” Lance asked the room at large.

“I already checked the Green Lion’s hangar,” Shiro admitted with a spork full of green goo halfway to his mouth. “She must’ve slept in her room last night.” He left the  _for once_ unspoken.

Lance glanced at Hunk, who frowned and said, “She came to the kitchen yesterday for some water. That was the last I saw of her.”

“Hmm.” Lance turned to stare at the dining room’s door, as if doing so would summon Pidge. When it - predictably - did not, he announced, “I’m going to check on her.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” said Shiro.

“Yeah, I know,” Lance agreed. He pushed his chair back from the table and stood, but before he left he reconsidered and piled goo into a bowl to take, just in case.

He paused outside Pidge’s bedroom door, wondering if his help - if she even needed it - would even be welcome; maybe she’d rather Shiro or anyone else check on her? But before he could think too hard, he briskly knocked on the door.

“What?” Her voice came out faint, as if muffled by something covering her mouth.

“Uh, it’s me,” Lance called cautiously. “I just came by to check if you’re awake.”

“Well, you got your answer; I’ll be out soon.” This time she sounded louder, but also  _off_.

“Can I come in?” Lance asked.

Pidge didn’t respond immediately, but then she said, “Why?”

He rolled his eyes and stuffed his free hand into his jacket pocket. “Like I said, to check on you. I heard you coughing last night and–” He cut himself off when the door silently slid open to reveal Pidge’s cluttered bedroom, with Pidge herself nowhere to be seen. “Uh, Pidge?”

A small, pale hand emerged from underneath a stack of blankets on the bed, waving at him, and Pidge’s head followed, a turtle peeking out of its shell. At the admission, Lance entered, carefully picking his way around discarded electronics and mechanical parts, past instructional booklets and loose sheets of paper. A furry green creature that looked a little like a mammalian caterpillar drifted past his head, markings on its head glowing when its eyes fell on him.

“Uh…”

“Don’t mind them,” Pidge said. She sat up in bed, propped up against two pillows, and as he watched she reached for a box of tissues on a bedside table. “They won’t hurt you.”

Lance curiously stuck a finger up, and the creature sniffed it. “There’s more than one?”

Pidge nodded towards a shadowy corner of her room, where junk was so condensed he couldn’t make out individual pieces. “The blue one is hiding over there; it’s a bit more shy.”

“Right,” Lance said. Then he offered her a smile. “I take it you’re sick?”

Pidge blew her nose with a noise like a foghorn. “It’s only allergies,” she said.

“…really,” Lance said skeptically. He approached her and sat on the edge of her bed without waiting for an invitation, the door sliding shut again behind him. To his relief, she made room for him, sliding a little closer to the wall. “And I brought you breakfast,” he added, brandishing the bowl of goo at her.

Pidge stared at it for a few heartbeats, then shook her head and said, “I’m not hungry.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re not?”

“No.” Pidge sniffed, and followed it up with a cough.

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, examining her more closely. Her hair stuck damply to her face, which looked a little flushed, and she held herself stiffly, like she was in pain. “I don’t think it’s allergies,” he told her. “I think you’re actually  _sick_.”

“Thanks for the diagnosis, Doctor,” Pidge quipped, pushing sweaty hair away from her face. “What’s my prognosis?”

Lance grinned. “Not too good, sadly,” he said, “but it could be better if you let me take care of you.”

Pidge stared at him. “Why? I’m doing fine.” She waved at the box of tissues at her bedside, at the empty cup that must’ve held water.

“Clearly.” Lance considered her for a minute, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead - too warm, like he suspected.

Pidge stiffened and asked, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for a fever,” Lance replied once he pulled back. He squinted at her, suspicious all over again. “You look even redder now; maybe you’re worse than you seem?”

She covered her face and groaned. “Why can’t you just use a thermometer like a normal person?” she demanded. “We’re on an advanced alien spaceship! I’m sure Coran has a few lying around.”

“Yeah, let me just go get that meat thermometer,” Lance retorted, “and then you’d have to convert the units from whatever Alteans use to degrees Celsius because I’m not good at mental math.”

“Honestly I’m impressed that you even remembered we’d have to convert the units,” Pidge said, looking at him from between her fingers.

Lance slumped. “Do you want my help or not?”

“…or not.”

“Seriously? I offer my services for free and  _this_ is how you repay me?”

Pidge snorted and crossed her arms. “Fine,” she said. “As long as you don’t force feed me cough syrup, you can…take care of me.” That last bit was said in a quieter voice, and if Lance didn’t know any better he would think she looked  _embarrassed_.

Then again, Pidge had a proud streak, so maybe it was difficult for her to admit to needing - or even wanting - help.

“Okay then!” Lance said brightly. He plopped the bowl of goo into her lap and said, “Why don’t you start with that?” He stood up and turned back to the door. “I’ll tell everyone else you won’t be training today, and then I’ll be back with some water and a thermometer after I ask Coran if there’s any medicine you can take.”

Pidge picked up the spork and raised it slowly to her lips. Lance pointedly watched her put it in her mouth, chew - not that it  _needed_ chewing - and swallow. Then, when she put the spork down, he said, “I guess that’s good enough for now, but you’d better finish it all by the time I come back.”

“Take your time,” Pidge said, and she tried another spork-ful.

* * *

 

Pidge only finished half the goo before her appetite shrunk until it was nonexistent. The goo tasted even worse than usual, like damp cardboard, and all she could really taste in her mouth besides was the saltiness of her own snot and saliva.

So she set the goo aside and lay back down, tugging the blanket up to cover her face in an attempt to warm up and keep herself from shivering. But her teeth still chattered, rattling what felt like her entire skeleton, and at the same time her eyes burned with the fever. Her stomach roiled with nausea, not helped at all by the way the goo didn’t settle in, but the last time she found the strength to stumble into the bathroom she hadn’t been able to vomit.

Pidge closed her eyes, exhausted after a nearly sleepless night, kept awake by her own coughing and an ear ache. Oh, she would  _kill_ for even just a spoonful of honey to soothe her sinuses, maybe with a mug of hot green tea, her mother’s spicy chicken noodle soup - spiced enough she could taste it, a bottle of Sprite or ginger ale for the upset stomach…

Still, it was sweet of Lance to offer to take care of her, and at least she knew he wouldn’t have any ulterior motives and wouldn’t extort a favor from her in the future - probably. He was just being…nice, like bringing her food and kissing her forehead to check her fever, because that was what close friends did.

“Right?” she asked the trash nebula caterpillar hovering close to her, its markings flashing.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Pidge’s thoughts, and she called, “Come in!” She struggled to sit up as the door slid open.

Lance returned with several pouches of water, a second bowl of goo - Pidge grimaced involuntarily at the sight - and a medical scanner. “Okay, Coran showed me how to use this,” he said, setting the bowl on her cluttered bedside table and sitting on the bed again.

Pidge shifted her legs to give him space again, and patiently waited for him to adjust the settings on the scanner…at least until his confused mumbling got on her sleep deprived nerves. She snatched it out of his hands - ignoring his indignant  _hey!_ \- and found the correct settings before returning it to him.

“Thanks,” Lance said.

Pidge shrugged and grumbled, “No problem.”  _I should be thanking you,_ she thought, but the words caught in her throat.

Lance held the scanner up to her face, and after a beat, the display flashed red and he lowered it. “Hmm, can you help me read this?” When Pidge nodded, Lance turned around so he sat beside her, leaning against her pillow and with his shoulder pressed against hers.

Pidge fought the urge to either shrink away or lean a little closer, instead saying, “You want to get sick too?”

“My immune system kicks ass,” Lance informed her. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tempting fate then,” Pidge said, nodding. “Suit yourself, but don’t come crying for me when the inevitable happens.”

(She didn’t mean that.)

“I’ll be fine,” Lance reassured her again. Then, after he brandished the scanner at her, he asked, “So what does it say is wrong with you?”

Pidge took it from him - his hands felt so much  _cooler_ than her overheated skin when they brushed against her - and glanced over the readout. “It’s the flu,” she decided. “Or, sort of.” She passed the scanner back to him. “It predicts I’ll no longer be contagious in three days, and a few days after that I’ll feel normal again.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Contagious?”

“Don’t worry,” Pidge said, “I won’t be kissing you during that time.”

Lance laughed, the elbow nudging her side also doing something to squeeze her heart. “Good to know so I have time to prepare.” He winked at her.

Pidge rolled her eyes. “The scanner also suggested bed rest, fluids, and a decongestant.”

“Oh, well, I guess this is like space Tylenol?” Lance said, holding up a bottle and shaking it so that its contents rattled.

Pidge took the bottle and scanned the label. “It says to take two every six vargas for an adult, but that’s for Alteans.” She squinted at it. “Also this stuff’s probably been expired for ten thousand years, and no drug has an unlimited shelf-life.”

“So…no drugs for you,” Lance said, grinning sheepishly as he snatched the bottle away from her. “Guess we should ask Coran to clean out the medicine in the med bay.”

“Probably a good idea,” Pidge agreed.

“Also, food,” Lance said. He took her unfinished bowl of goo and dropped it into her lap. “Finish it.”

“I’m not hungry.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Come on, Pidge, you’re smart enough to know that you need to eat.”

“Yeah, well, too bad I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Pidge sighed and admitted, “I feel nauseous and I have no appetite.”

“Well, what if  _I_ feed you?”

It took all her willpower not to gape at him - and she thanked her lucky stars that she was probably already red with fever and he wouldn’t see her blush. “I don’t see how that would help.”

“Let’s try anyway.” Lance scooped up a spork-ful of goo and raised it to be level with her mouth, but she stubbornly pinched her lips together. “Come on, Pidge.”

“No,” she said, barely moving her lips.

Lance pressed the spoon to her mouth. “Pidge,” he chided.

Pidge shook her head.

“Come  _on_ ,” he whined. “If you don’t eat, you’ll starve and die, and where will that leave us? Without our resident genius?”

“That’s overdramatic,” Pidge said.

“Open up for the food Lion,” Lance sang.

Pidge only stared at him.

Lance sighed and dropped the spork into the bowl. “Fine,” he said, “we can try that again later. Is there something else you want then?”

“Food? No.” Pidge shook her head to emphasize, then rested her head on his shoulder. “I wish I could get some tea…take a nap…” She yawned and wrapped her arms around Lance’s.

“Okay,” Lance said. He ran his fingers through her hair, apparently disregarding how sweaty she was. “Go to sleep then.”

Pidge closed her eyes, and this time she drifted off a little quicker as her nausea faded.

* * *

 

When Pidge’s breathing slowed - though it still hitched whenever she coughed - Lance very carefully extricated himself from her grip, making sure her head nestled on the pillow before he retreated from her room with an objective in mind.

If Pidge was going to be bedridden for a few day cycles, then he could stand to make sure she wouldn’t get bored.

He peeked into the kitchen, searching for Hunk, but when he couldn’t find him there he went down to the Yellow Lion’s hangar. “Hunk!” he called when he spotted him working on something large and mechanical near the Lion’s giant paw.

“Lance,” Hunk replied, smiling when he looked up. “How’s Pidge?”

“She has space flu,” Lance told him.

“Oh, has she eaten?” Hunk asked, immediately perking up with wide-eyed worry. “Is she drinking water? Did you give her any—”

“No, yes, and everything on the ship is  _probably_ expired,” Lance answered him in turn. He tapped his foot then and before Hunk could say anything else asked, “Can you help me with something?”

Hunk put down the tool in his hand. “Sure,” he said. “What do you need?”

“I need to move something,” Lance explained, “from my room to Pidge’s…”

* * *

 

The ticker displayed from the wall indicated that less than two vargas passed since Pidge fell asleep leaning against Lance, who was…gone.

When she opened her eyes, still sticky with sleep, she reflexively reached across her bed towards where she’d expected him to be, but when only soft, slightly smelly sheets met her fingertips, disappointment filled her belly –  _better than nausea,_ she thought – rather than relief that she did, at least, feel better.

Her throat wasn’t so sore, her ear ache was gone, and her muscles didn’t hurt so much. But her fever was still unbroken, and Pidge was alone when she hadn’t expected or, truth be told,  _wanted_ to be.

Pidge glanced around the room then, struck by an urge to do…something. Though she doubted she had the strength to walk much further than the distance between her bed and the bathroom, her skin crawled with restlessness. She sat up, seeking something to do, when she spotted the green nebula caterpillar on her bedside table, polishing off her unfinished breakfast.

She raised an eyebrow at it and said, “I guess I can tell Lance I ate it after all.” She smiled, and was about to beckon it towards her when she noticed a ceramic mug right next to it, curling white tendrils of steam rising from it. “Tea?”

Pidge carefully picked up the mug – the heat warmed her clammy hands – and sniffed at the contents suspiciously, but when all she smelled was the odd Olkari tea they used as a coffee substitute, she sipped at it.

It was a little too bitter for her liking, but it did its job, loosening the phlegm thick in her throat, the steam she inhaled soothing the stuffiness of her nose.

While she drank, the door slid open – without waiting for her permission – and admitted Lance and Hunk.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Lance greeted her brightly.

Pidge barely heard him, her gaze drawn to the equipment in his and Hunk’s arms. “Is that everything for the system?” she asked, feeling her eyes bug out. “Wasn’t that in  _your_ room?”

“Well, since you’re kind of stuck,” Lance said while he started rearranging her room’s clutter, shoving stuff aside to make room for all the equipment, “I figured we could move it here so you’re not so bored.”

Pidge grinned. “If I wasn’t sick, I could kiss you!”

Hunk snorted, and Lance quipped, “Oh, so you finally admit that you  _are_ sick?”

(Pidge wasn’t sure, but she thought she spied a hint of red on his face.)

“Guess there’s no point in denying it anymore,” Pidge said, shrugging.

“Because that’s the most important thing you’re denying,” Hunk said.

Lance finally approached her, nodding in satisfaction when he saw her drinking the tea, though when his gaze fell on the bowl – with the caterpillar still gorging itself on the goo – he rolled his eyes and said, “So your dog ate your homework?”

Pidge smiled sheepishly and shooed the caterpillar away. “I’m not hungry,” she told him, “like I said.”

“But—”

“I’ll make something else,” Hunk interrupted. He now stood in the doorway, the gaming system fully set up. “Something more interesting than goo, maybe.”

“You think it can have a bit more flavor in it too?” Pidge asked cautiously.

Hunk grinned. “Of course it can, Pidge.” Then, he shot an unreadable look at Lance and left.

He booted up the console and sat with both controllers on the floor beside Pidge’s bed. He handed up a controller to her.

Pidge took it, then said, “Give me player one.”

“I don’t think so,” Lance said. He smirked at the title screen as he navigated to the two-player option.

“Uh, no, I’m sick,” Pidge said, tapping his shoulder with the player two controller in her hand.

“So now that it suits you, you’re pulling the ‘I’m sick’ card?” Lance glanced sideways at her. “Uncool, Pidge.”

“Something tells me you would do the exact same thing,  _and_ you owe me for stealing the console in the first place. So give me.” She set her controller aside and leaned down for Lance’s.

When her hand closed around the controller, she tugged at it, but Lance tugged back, and Pidge tumbled out of bed, her head falling against his thigh.

“Whoops! Sorry, Pidge,” he said, though from the impish grin on his face he didn’t look sorry at all.

Winded even from such brief exertion, Pidge glared up at him. “Are you serious?”

“Are  _you_ serious?”

Pidge grabbed his arm and heaved herself back upright until she sat on the floor, her back to him. “Fine,” she conceded, retrieving the second controller from her bed, “but you’d better be prepared for me to kick your ass.”

Lance laughed and said, “I’ve been practicing—”

“Because you  _stole it_.”

“—so we’ll see who  _really_ wins this round.”

Pidge won that round, and the one after that, and the next, but by the fourth and final, her consciousness wavered enough that Lance took advantage of her lapse in attention and stole that round out from under her virtual feet.

* * *

 

Everyone else aboard the Castle took turns visiting Pidge. Hunk brought her food – something more appealing and better tasting than green goo – as promised, and she managed to eat most of it before she set it aside, her appetite vanishing, for the caterpillars to finish. Shiro brought a message of well wishes to her from Matt. Allura and the mice visited together, the former with a tablet containing a collection of her favorite books while the latter braided Pidge’s short, sweaty hair into uneven pigtails. Coran’s visit was the longest and the strangest, while he regaled Pidge of the tale of his ‘inner battle’ against the dastardly Silver Fever that afflicted him when he gallivanted around the known universe during his youth.

Pidge nodded off during Coran’s visit; for all she knew, putting her to sleep had been his intention, but it was hard to tell with him.

This time Lance was there when she woke up halfway through the Castle’s night cycle, the clicking of knitting needles providing a soothing rhythm to her still half-asleep brain. “What’re you making?” she asked, or tried to since the words came out a little garbled, her lips sluggish.

The clicking stopped, and she heard footsteps as Lance approached her bedside. “Shouldn’t you still be asleep?” he asked, peering down at her.

Pidge rubbed her eyes. “Shouldn’t  _you_?” she retorted, squinting at him. “How can you knit in the dark anyway?”

“Portable light,” Lance said, wielding a small device. He pressed a button and it glowed white. After a moment of consideration, he set it aside and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.

Pidge squinted at him. “What’re you doing?”

“I think your fever’s gone,” he said. He knelt beside her, folding his arms onto her bed and resting his chin on them. “How do you feel now?”

Mind still sluggish with sleep, Pidge was too busy watching the light and shadows play across his face to register his words. “What did you say?”

Lance rolled his eyes but smiled, looking almost indulgent. “How do you feel, Pidge?”

Pidge rubbed her face and thought about it. “Desperately in need of a shower,” she admitted. She lifted her arm and sniffed at her armpit, wrinkling her nose at the scent of sweat and her body’s odor.

“That’s all?”

Pidge looked at him; she was  _pretty_ sure the warmth in her chest had nothing to do with the fever that had already broken, so she said, “My nose is still stuffed, and I’m going to be stuck with a cough for at least a week, but…I feel much better already.”

“Good,” Lance said.

“I…thanks, Lance,” Pidge said. “You didn’t have to take care of me, but you did, and…” She shrugged, though it probably looked odd since she was still lying down.

“What are friends for?” Lance said, offering his own shrug. “Besides, your brother’s not here, so someone else should step in, you know?”

Pidge frowned at him, unsure what to say, or what could dispel the disappointment settling in.  _Of course,_ she thought. Out loud she finally said, “You should sleep too. What if you get sick just from being around me?”

“I’ll be fine, Pidge,” Lance reassured her. “You worry too much, but—” He yawned, covering his face with a hand. “Okay, sleeping actually does sound nice.” He stood up, retrieving the lighting device and turning it off so that they were plunged into darkness. “I’ll check on you again in the morning?”

“Sounds good,” Pidge said. She rolled onto her side, not acknowledging Lance’s murmured  _good night_ as she closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

* * *

 

After a shower in the morning, Pidge felt much better and stronger, and when she dressed in actual clothes rather than in her pajamas – which  _really_ needed laundering – she felt almost back to normal…though the pile of used tissues on her bedside table refused to diminish.

“Gross,” she grumbled as she tossed another aside. She stood up, about to leave her room for the first time in over a quintant, when a knock on the door made her pause. “Come in,” she said.

The door slid open to admit, unsurprisingly, Lance. When his eyes fell on her, standing and dressed, he smiled and said, “That’s not what I expected.”

Pidge grinned, at least until she sneezed and had to wipe her nose again. “I’m not as weak as you think, Lance.”

“I never thought you were weak,” he argued, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway. “But you know, I was kind of looking forward to spending today in here again.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. “Why?”

“So I can get out of training, obviously.” He flashed her a smirk.

Pidge rolled her eyes and groaned, “ _Of course_.”

* * *

A few quintants later, Lance ended up bedridden with the same virus that took Pidge, and by process of elimination – because she’d already suffered the illness and would have the necessary antibodies – she was the one forced to take care of him.

Or, that was the reason she told him, anyway; the Milky Way would turn into actual milk before she ever admitted that she  _wanted_ to care for him…and the fact that Lance was so needy and borderline whiny sometimes helped her keep that fact to herself.

But when he asked her to read to him from one of the books Allura lent her – she had to run the texts through her Altean translation program to fully understand them – something else in her softened.

“Thanks, Pidge,” Lance interrupted her reading, his voice hoarse. He had his head pillowed in Pidge’s lap while she idly ran her fingers through his hair with her free hand.

Pidge smiled, her face warm and carefully hidden from his sight by perspective and the tablet, and said, “Anytime, Lance.”


	46. Snuggles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a random prompt from a tumblr user that shall remain anonymous
> 
> Probably AU, pure fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/169027244598/consider-pidge-and-lance-sharing-a-bed-just)

“Could you maybe stop fidgeting?” Pidge asked the third time Lance elbowed her in the side. She glanced up from her laptop screen towards him, eyes widening when she got a good look of his face. “Hey, are you  _crying_?”

“No,” Lance denied, right as he reached up with one hand to wipe his face.

Pidge set her laptop on the bedside table and scooted a bit closer to him. “What’s wrong?” she asked…but then she spotted the book now closed in his lap. “Oh, you got to  _that_ part.”

“They were so  _young_ ,” Lance whined, voice trembling. “They had their whole lives ahead of them!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Pidge wrapped her arms around him, letting him bury his face in her neck while she rubbed his back.

“He died, and then  _she_ died, and then the  _flowers_ , Pidge!”

Pidge chuckled. “Yeah, I know, I cried when I read that part too.”

That startled him into pulling his head away so he could meet her eyes. “Really? A book made  _you_ cry?”

“Yes, a book melted my frozen heart,” Pidge deadpanned.

“You mean it wasn’t me?”

Pidge smirked as she rested her hand on the back of his neck, pulling him closer so he could press his forehead against hers. With her other hand she wiped the last of his tears with her thumb and said, “You might have thawed it a little.”

Lance laughed. “Oh, good, so I deserve some credit.”

“Yes, and if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t just cry when I read this book.” She withdrew from him and picked the book up from his lap, rapidly flipping through the pages before setting it aside on her laptop. “I  _bawled_.”

“No way!”

Pidge nodded, completely serious as she said, “Yeah. I was inconsolable; my mother even baked me cookies to cheer me up.” She then snorted, flushing slightly, and added, “She thought it was a boy at first.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Well, she was half-right,” he said, nudging her.

Pidge hummed in agreement and wrapped her arms around him again. “So what can I do to console you?”

“This is good already,” Lance said, his own arms tightening around her. “Or we could be a little more…” He tugged at her.

She understood immediately and said, “Horizontal?”

Lance grinned and lay down, and Pidge joined him. She pressed herself against him, warmed by his body, as they faced each other.

“You know,” she commented, “it’s barely eleven.”

“Then maybe for once you’ll sleep at a reasonable time,” Lance said.

“Maybe for once you won’t wake me up at an  _unreasonable_ one,” Pidge retorted.

“You sleep through your alarm, Pidge,” he chided.

Pidge idly laced their fingers together. “Because I know I can rely on you to wake me up, obviously, Lance,” she said, rolling her eyes.

His arm snaked around her waist. “What happens if I forget?”

“Please,” Pidge snorted. “You won’t forget, not when you need me to make your coffee.”

“I don’t  _need_ you to make my coffee,” Lance said. He reached up with their joined hands to stroke her cheek. “You just make it taste better for some reason.”

“Because I remember how much sugar and creamer you take in it.”

“No, no, it’s definitely because you have a magic touch.”

Pidge tried to scoff but ended up smiling instead. “God,” she said, covering her face with one hand.

Lance brushed it away. “You know, Pidge, I’ve been told that my bedroom voice is attractive.”

Pidge snorted. “By whom?”

“Uh, I’m looking at her?” Lance raised an eyebrow at her, then let go of her hand so he could wrap both arms around her waist.

“I’ve never said anything about a  _bedroom voice_ in my life,” Pidge said. Still, she buried her hands in his hair so that their faces were close together, breaths mingling in the small gap between them.

“Yes, you did,” Lance said, his voice pitched lower and softer. “You said it the morning after our first night together.”

“Oh, well, that explains it,” Pidge said with a chuckle.

“Explains what?”

“You really shouldn’t hold me accountable for anything I say when I’m half-asleep.” Pidge pressed the side of her head against his chest. “I don’t know what I’m saying right after I wake up.”

“Really,” Lance said skeptically as he idly stroked her hair.

“Mm hmm.”

“Guess I won’t tell you what you said this morning then,” Lance said.

Pidge pulled away from him and looked him in the eye. “What did I say?” she demanded.

“Uh, no, I’m not telling you if you don’t want to be held accountable.”

“No, no, tell me.” Pidge grabbed the front of his shirt when Lance only pinched his lips shut. “Lance, if you don’t tell me–”

“You said you rigged  _Killbot_ so that you’d always win.”

“That is… _not true_ ,” Pidge protested.

“Then how come I can never beat you?”

“Because you’re not as good at the game as me!”

Lance snorted, and for one heart-stopping moment Pidge thought he was genuinely annoyed, but then he laughed and admitted, “I’m just teasing you, Pidge.” He leaned towards her until his lips were millimeters from hers. “It’s amazing you still fall for it sometimes.”

“Just like I still fall for you, I guess,” Pidge said, the words slipping from her mouth before she could think about them.

Lance smiled through his subsequent blush. “I love it when you say cheesy things.”

Pidge rested her forehead against his chin, ineffectually hiding her face from his view. “Yeah, well, I love that you inspire them.”

“Aw, I love you, Pidge.”

“Shut up,” Pidge grumbled. Then, quieter, she added, “I love you too, Lance.”


	47. The Start of Something New?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Random prompt cross-posted from tumblr
> 
> Modern/high school AU, fluff-ish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/169213756373/this-may-be-a-weird-request-but-can-you-do-a)
> 
>   ~~and yes the title is definitely a _High School Musical_ reference~~

Lance meandered down the empty hallway from the chemistry lab to the gymnasium. The silence was eerie, enough that he ran his hands along the locks in the lockers, producing some sound other than his own footsteps. Usually other students filled the halls when Lance left his last class for afterschool soccer practice, but after a mishap in chemistry his teacher had forced him to stay behind and help clean up.

Which was fair, Lance supposed, if inconvenient; oh, his coach would bite his head off for missing the first half hour of practice.

It was only the first week after winter break, so even the music hall was quiet…except for a high, clear voice coming from the choir room.

Curious, Lance wandered a little out of his way towards the choir room and peeked inside. His eyes narrowed, trying to see through the thin white curtain covering the window, but after a few seconds – as the singing continued – Lance took a chance and slowly turned the knob, pushing the door open on blessedly silent hinges.

After opening the door – just a crack, not enough for anyone within to notice hopefully – Lance could hear the lyrics of the song the person inside was singing…and he knew it! But why were they singing a duet _alone_? He bit his lip, resisting the urge to join in favor of watching the singer rehearse.

Short and slight, Pidge – his old friend, to whom he hadn’t really spoken since middle school – stood close to the center of the room, in front of the raised levels that the choir sat on while rehearsing or performing. She had a music stand in front of her, eyebrows scrunched up while she scanned the music; but she stopped abruptly, mid-note and mid-word.

“God dammit,” she grumbled. She turned a page, quiet as she examined her sheet music.

Lance leaned just a bit closer, trying not to put too much weight on the door so it wouldn’t swing open without his permission.

Pidge then pinched her eyes shut and started the song again from the beginning, her voice clear and high, hitting all the notes perfectly – though in Lance’s opinion she lacked the passion required of the song.

But this time, when she paused at the start of a verse that would belong to the other participant in the duet, Lance joined in.

Pidge turned her head rapidly at the sound of his voice, eyes widening when they fell on him, but Lance wasn’t deterred. He pushed the door open all the way and approached her, and when he reached the end of the verse, he nodded to her to join him in singing the chorus.

To his surprise, she did, their voices mingling well, his tenor to her mezzo soprano, though he was out of practice and didn’t hit all the notes. A fact of which he was quite self-conscious of, but when they reached the end of the song, Pidge didn’t criticize his singing.

No, she immediately demanded, “What the _hell_ , Lance?”

“What?” Lance said, raising his arms defensively. “You seemed stuck so I helped you.”

“You were… _eavesdropping_ on my rehearsal!” Pidge retorted. She furiously flipped through her sheet music before slamming her folder shut. “I had it handled.”

“Sure, of course you did,” Lance told her. He propped an elbow on the top of the music stand, smiling when she looked up at his face. “Anyway, I thought you didn’t like singing duets.”

“How would you know?” Pidge asked without a hint of malice, her eyebrow raised in surprise.

“Well, you mentioned they made you…uncomfortable once?” Lance rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe it was odd that he remembered that particular fact about her?

“I’ve barely spoken to you since middle school,” Pidge said.

“Then you mentioned it then?” Lance suggested. When she still only stared at him in response, he added, “I have a good memory?”

“Guess so,” she said. She rolled her eyes, then sighed and admitted, “You’re right though. I just…my teacher recommended I practice singing duets if I want to get a solo.”

“Hmm, that sounds a bit counterintuitive.”

Pidge flung her arms out in frustration. “That’s what _I_ said! But apparently she thinks I need to be more versatile.”

“Hey, she’s probably not wrong,” Lance conceded, but when Pidge shot him an indignant glance, he elaborated, “I’m just saying, maybe it’s better to be good at a lot of things? I mean, I don’t want to brag—”

“Good to know you haven’t changed much.”

“—but I’m an awesome midfielder. And yet, I can play any position if I’m called upon, you know?” He grinned at her, hoping she took his meaning.

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been to a few of your games—”

“ _You have?_ ”

“—and you’re a better midfielder than you are anything else.” She crossed her arms. “But I guess you have a point.”

“See?” Lance pressed a thumb against his chest. “I can be smart.”

“I never said you couldn’t be,” Pidge mumbled, eyes drifting so that they fixed on something just behind him.

Lance smiled, a little awkwardly, at the reminder of their old friendship. And why shouldn’t they be friends again? Why’d they even stop in the first place? “Hey,” he said, drawing Pidge’s attention back to his face. “We sang pretty well together today, right?”

“Right…” Pidge said cautiously.

“So why don’t _I_ help you out?” he said. She opened her mouth, looking ready to contradict him, but he plowed on, “Look, if you want to do something for me in return, my chemistry grade’s not too great.”

Pidge sighed, then propped her arms on the edge of her music stand, leaning towards him slightly. “Fine,” she agreed. “I will accept your help until I’m more comfortable doing duets, or until I get a solo.”

“So when do you want to start?” Lance wondered with a pleased grin, a welcome flash of triumph infecting his mood. “Now?”

Pidge eyed the duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “You mean you’re not late to soccer practice?”

“Oh, shit,” Lance said, eyes widening. He laughed sheepishly and turned to go. “I’ll call you then?”

“You don’t have my number,” she pointed out.

“Then I’ll find you tomorrow during lunch,” he said, shrugging. “We have the same one, right?”

“Right,” Pidge said, and she smiled.

Lance flashed a grin of his own over his shoulder before he left, and despite his dread at his coach’s likely scolding, there was a spring in his step the rest of the way to soccer practice.


	48. y/n

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted but inspired by one of [kostbarereh's](https://kostbarereh.tumblr.com/) [headcanons](https://kostbarereh.tumblr.com/post/169359558867/alright-here-are-some-plance-headcannons-lance) and by a particular scene in the second of Meg Cabot's _The Princess Diaries_
> 
> Modern/college AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/169402542703/so-this-short-fic-didnt-exist-this-morning-but)

The pre-finals extracurricular fair is even more crowded than Lance expected, and the crowds don’t cut in front of him like they usually seem to. Students cluster to some booths more than others, especially ones for popular clubs or that pass out free food and water bottles, but Hunk doesn’t head for any of those.

“Where are we going?” Lance asks him. He idly waves at someone he recognizes, but most of his attention is focused on Hunk and their mysterious destination.

“The robotics club booth,” Hunk says, resting a hand on his back and nudging him forward. “I have a bake sale for a different club, but Pidge wanted to show you something, so I promised to take you to her.”

Lance blinks in surprise, then smiles. “Ooh, what’s she got for me?”

Hunk grins. “Oh, wouldn’t you like to know,” he says.

“I would,” Lance whines. “That’s why I asked!”

“To be fair,” Hunk says with an elbow nudging his side, “I only know the barest details, but I’m pretty sure you’ll like it.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at him. “How about a hint then?”

“No,” Hunk denies immediately. “Besides, you’ll find out soon enough.”

Lance rolls his eyes and plays with the zipper on his jacket, mind considering the possibilities. The very idea that  _Pidge_ would have a surprise – a present, a  _gift_ , something worth keeping a secret – excites him, makes his heart pound faster and his imagination race. He barely sees the faces of anyone in the crowd, impatient for him and Hunk to reach their destination.

Wildly, his thoughts jump to the idea of Pidge  _kissing_ him as a surprise, but he dismisses that quickly. Pidge isn’t interested in him, and even if she is, why would she tell  _Hunk_ about something like that?

“You catch a bit of sunburn, Lance?” Hunk asks, interrupting his thoughts and catching his attention.

“Huh?” Lance says, quite eloquently in his opinion considering where his mind still lingers. “No, I don’t really—” He scowls when he finally notices Hunk’s knowing  _smirk_. “Oh, you bastard.”

Hunk laughs, but then he waves to someone in the distance, his arm poking out over the heads of the surrounding students. And when the crowd parts around them – conveniently,  _fatefully_  – Pidge waves back from her spot at a table positioned in the shade of a tree blooming with pale purple flowers.

Pidge smiles, and Lance thinks he can spot a dimple even from here, so she must be happy to see him – or Hunk, at least. Her eyes are bright and wide, her hair tied up in a bun with loose strands escaping and ringing her face, and despite the unseasonably warm early spring day she wears her favorite green and white sweater.

Whatever she wants to show Lance, it can’t be bad…at least not for her.

“All right, there you go,” Hunk says, shoving Lance forward with all the gentleness of someone smacking a horse’s rump to spur it on.

Lance rights himself after a brief stumble, laughing to dispel some of his embarrassment when Pidge meets his eyes, but he shoots a glare over his shoulder at Hunk, who’s already leaving for his bake sale. But he puts that mishap out of his mind, straightens his shoulder, and plows on towards Pidge.

“Hello,” he says when he stands across the table from her. The robot still in its prototype stage might be worthy of admiration if Pidge herself isn’t here, but she takes all of Lance’s attention without even trying.

“Hi,” she says. Something in her smile falters, just a little tremulous and a touch nervous, like she doesn’t know what to say.

Good thing Lance knows how to keep a conversation flowing. He grins reassuringly at her and says, “A little birdie told me you have something to show me?”

“Oh, straight to the point?” Pidge says.

“Hey, I love surprises,” Lance tells her, “and one coming from you? That makes it extra special.”

Pidge clears her throat and averts her eyes. “Right, if you say so.”

“I do say so!” Lance says. Then he squints at her. “Are you okay, Pidge? You don’t have to be nervous; I’m sure I’ll love whatever it is.”

“It’s not—it’s not that,” Pidge tells him quickly, waving her hands dismissively. “It’s a…it’s a fun surprise. I-I designed a game – a pretty simple game, really, I didn’t have as much time as I wanted to work on it – and I wanted you to be the first to play it.” She brightens a bit then, like she always does when she talks about her work or video games – and this is something of both, so she  _must_ be enjoying bragging. “If you’re interested, anyway.” She points to her laptop, which Lance now notices sits at the corner of the table in prime shade in all its stickered glory.

“I would be honored,” Lance says, and he is. He can sense this is something personal to Pidge, something  _different_ than the hangman program she wrote in their very first semester, an assignment for class that she had Lance and Hunk test out every time she edited the code.

“Good!” Pidge says, but for some reason his reassurance doesn’t seem to soothe whatever anxiety she has. In fact, she looks even  _more_ anxious; he even spots her wiping her hands on her pants before she starts setting up the game. “Come around.”

Lance walks around the table so he stands right next to her while she opens the appropriate file. He smiles at the desktop background – a funny reminder of how sentimental Pidge is, as it’s a photo of her with her family at a rocket launch for a project her father was heavily involved in bringing to life – until Pidge nudges him towards an empty chair, small hands gently pushing his side.

“So, uh, how do I play?” Lance asks, hands hovering, uncertain, over the keyboard.

“The game will prompt you,” Pidge explains. She points at the screen, to the program’s – well, she definitely wasn’t kidding when she said it would be  _simple_ – input line. “It’ll give you the options and you’ll tell it what you want, and the story.”

“Ooh,” Lance says, whistling admiringly. “You wrote a story for this?” He glanced sideways at her, at the tiny bump on the bridge of her nose and what looks like a blush high on her cheeks.

“Not really,” she admits, toying with a strand of her hair. “It’s a very straightforward plot, and—look, just play the game, Lance.” She claps him on the shoulder, apparently impatient for him to get started.

“Okay,” Lance says. He turns back to the screen, trying not to get distracted by Pidge standing right next to him.

The screen prompts,  _Press enter to begin._

Lance presses the ‘enter’ key, and the program outputs,  _Welcome to the dungeon. Enter what color you would like to play._  When he side-eyes Pidge, she smiles and says, “Pick any color in the rainbow.”

“So I can’t enter  _teal_?”

“You can, but it’ll come back and tell you to pick another color.” Her smile turns into a smirk as she admits, “I know you just  _love_ confounding my programs.”

Lance chuckles and says, “Fine, just this once I’ll go easy on it.” He types ‘blue’ into the program.

_You are the blue warrior. Please enter your name._

“Uh…my  _actual_ name?”

“You’ll ruin it if you don’t.”

Lance turns his head so fast towards her that he sees stars. “Ruin  _what_?”

“You’ll see if you play the damn game,” Pidge says, pointing at the screen.

Lance rolls his eyes and types his name, even checking he didn’t accidentally misspell it before he presses ‘enter’.

_Blue Warrior Lance approaches the castle. You must rescue the fair maiden trapped in the dungeon._

“Oh, what did this fair maiden do to get trapped in a dungeon?”

“Just keep playing,” Pidge grumbles.

Lance rolls his eyes but watches text appear on the screen.   _Blue Warrior Lance, are you brave enough to enter the castle? Enter y/n._

“Of course I am,” he mutters under his breath, entering ‘y’.

_You reach a row of three doors. One leads up, another leads back out, and the third leads down into the dungeon. Enter a number between 1 and 3 to select a door._

“Which one is the dungeon?”

To his surprise, Pidge tells him, “The second.”

Lance types ‘2’, and the screen resumes,  _You walk downstairs but encounter a sphynx. They insist the fair maiden is fairly_ – Lance snorts at the pun –  _imprisoned for theft. Enter 1 to turn around, or enter 2 to hear the sphynx’s riddle and proceed._

“I can’t solve a riddle!” Lance screeches. “I’m not as smart as you, Pidge.”

Pidge pats his head, almost condescendingly. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s not that bad.”

“So I’m guessing I should keep going then?”

“If that’s what you want,” Pidge says. If Lance doesn’t know any better, he would think she sounds  _coy_.

Lance types ‘2’ for the second time in a row, spurred on by Pidge’s challenge.

The screen reads,  _Look to the girl standing at your right._ Lance raises an eyebrow at the computer, then turns his head towards Pidge.

“It didn’t mean literally,” she tells him, crossing her arms.

“Ooookay,” Lance says, rolling his eyes and returning his attention back to the screen, which now displays a question that makes his jaw drop and face flame.

_Lance, will you go out with Pidge? Enter y/n._

“Uh, Pidge,” Lance squeaks.

“J-just answer the question on the screen,” Pidge almost whispers. If he peers at her from the corner of his eyes, he can see the hand she presses to her face in embarrassment.

“Are you planning on having  _other_ people play this game?” Lance wonders.

Pidge bites her lip and says, “It’s meant only for you.”

Lance types ‘y’ and presses ‘enter’ without hesitation.

The screen reads,  _The sphynx transforms into the fair maiden, imprisoned for stealing the Blue Warrior Lance’s heart—_

“True,” Lance says, nodding in approval at the screen.

“Dear God, Lance, just read what’s on the screen!”

Lance grins – though his face is still way too warm to be explained by the weather – and reads where he left off,  _—and cursed for falling in love._

“Uh…that bad, huh?” He can’t look at her, at least not yet.

“I…know you like romantic stuff,” Pidge says, gesturing at her computer’s screen, “so I tried. It’s memorable at least, right?”

Her voice is uncertain enough that Lance turns and meets her eyes, and he smiles. “I think it’s great,” he says. “I didn’t think you had that much romance in you, though, at least not for me.”

Pidge reaches out, soft fingers resting on his cheek, and snorts, “Please, it’s  _just_ for you, like I said.”

“What would’ve happened if I said no?”

Pidge raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think I hate myself enough to have done this if I thought you would?”

Lance stares at her for a good few seconds, taking in her half-amused, blushing face, but then he shoots up and yells, “Hunk!”

Pidge laughs, the sound so happy and delightful in Lance’s ears that he hugs her without a second thought, wrapping her in his arms and holding her close. Hugging Pidge isn’t a rare occurrence, exactly, but this time it’s different, her fingers clutching the back of his jacket and every point of contact between them warm and charged. He plays with a few strands of her hair, loosed from her bun, and her nose pokes his chest.

“So, uh…did you have a date planned too?” Lance poses carefully. “Or just that?”

“Finish the game to find out,” Pidge says, peering up at him.

“Wait, there’s more?”

Pidge hums and disentangles their limbs, pushing him back into the chair. This time it’s an effort to pay attention to the computer screen rather than focus it all on her, but when she notices him staring she presses two fingers into his jaw and nudges him.

Lance rolls his eyes and reads aloud, “ _It is time for Blue Warrior Lance and the fair maiden to escape the dungeon, but a dragon stands in your path._  Piece of cake,” he says as an aside to Pidge.

 _Enter ‘1’ for a sword attack, ‘2’ for a bow and arrow, ‘3’ for a cannon_ – “I have a  _cannon_?”  _– ‘4’ to sneak around the dragon, or combine two options._

“Hmm.” Lance glances at Pidge. “What do  _you_ think?”

“Well,  _I_ think it’s silly to attack a dragon head-on,” she tells him, “but you’re leading the escape so it’s up to you.”

“Huh.” Lance types ‘24’ and presses enter, and then the story reads,  _You distract the dragon with a shot at its eye while you and the fair maiden escape and emerge from the castle._

_The night is clear and full of stars. The fair maiden gives you the option of a prize in gratitude._

“Oh, really?” Lance says with a smirk. “What do I get?”

 _Enter ‘1’ for a date to the planetarium_ – “I like my options so far!”  _– enter ‘2’ for a game night at the student center_ – “Uh, why can’t we do both?” –  _or enter ‘3’ for a kiss._

“Seriously, why can’t I have  _all_ of them?” Lance whines.

Pidge’s lips stretch into a smirk of her own…right before she presses a kiss to the corner of Lance’s mouth and making his brain screech to a halt. When she pulls back – too soon, in his opinion – she quips, “Maybe you  _will_ , if you were more patient.”

Lance enters ‘1’ but still grumbles, “I thought you like me.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with being an ass. So…” Pidge taps her fingers on the table, leaning towards the screen to see what he entered. “You want to go watch that new show about the  _New Horizons_ mission to Pluto then?”

“Hey, sounds like a good first date to me,” Lance tells her with a smile, and he snakes an arm around her waist, tugging her a little closer.

The screen then outputs,  _And then Lance and Pidge lived happily ever after, or they will after they graduate from college._

“Yeah, I kind of wish I’d taken that part out,” Pidge admits, an embarrassed hand on her face.

“Why?” Lance says, waving one hand at the screen. “It may be corny, but it’s perfect for a fairy tale. Also…can I have the file?”

“Why?” Pidge asks.

“Because it’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten?”

Pidge smiles and nods, and she says, “You have to have the right system installed to run it, but yeah, I can give you a copy.”

“Hey, Pidge, I think you just gave me my new favorite video game.”

Pidge snorts and, to his delighted surprise, sits sideways in his lap, her arms balancing on his shoulders. “It was really easy to write the program because it’s so simple.” Then she frowns and confesses, “The story was the hard part, because everything I wanted to do originally would’ve made it too complicated and I didn’t have time for graphics.”

Lance raises an eyebrow at her. “Pidge, no one has ever asked me out like this.”

“Has anyone  _ever_ asked you out?”

His jaw drops. “Did you just—”

Pidge buries her face in his shoulder and mutters, “I’m sorry, that just sort of…slipped out.”

“I forgive you,” Lance says, rubbing a hand up and down her back. “But…huh, now that I think about it, you’re right. You’re the first. Guess that makes you special.”

Pidge looks up and presses her forehead against his. “Damn right, I’m special.”

This time Lance kisses her, something a little  _more_ than when she surprised him, but before they can get too into it, someone nearby audibly clears their throat, and Lance remembers they’re still in public.

They break apart, Pidge’s face likely as red as his, and he glances up to see Hunk standing across the table, ostensibly examining the robot on display. “So I take it your plan succeeded, Pidge?” he wonders.

“Yeah,” Pidge says with a smile. “Thanks for laying the trap for me.”

“Well, congratulations, I guess,” Hunk says, offering them a smile of his own, but before either of them can thank him or express any gratitude, he frowns, crosses his arms, and says, “Just remember that I have a weak stomach, okay?”

Lance laughs, despite the sudden rush of embarrassment, while Pidge once more presses her face against his shoulder and groans.


	49. Neglect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by a user on tumblr
> 
> Canon compliant (probably) and takes place about mid-Season 4, tiny bit of angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/169534112888/i-think-its-s4e3-black-site-where-lance-is)

Lance was happy for Pidge.

He  _was_.

But despite his insistence, something didn’t sit quite right with him, an unpleasant heat twisting in his belly; it was a familiar feeling, but it wasn’t one he usually associated with Pidge.

Lance sulked in the dark in his bedroom, the only illumination that of  _Killbot Phantasm’s_ title screen, the ‘START’ blinking while it waited for him to play. Usually, Pidge would join him, but  _usually_ , Pidge wasn’t preoccupied with her brother, showing him around the Castle and introducing him to the mice and teaching him how to use the training deck and whatever else nerdy rebels caught in space liked doing in their rare downtime.

He toyed with the controller’s joystick, the on-screen cursor switching from option to option; even though Pidge was late - later than usual, really, since she tended to lose track of time - he still hoped that she would sprint into his room, chatting about her latest project while she sat beside him, eager to play the game they bought together.

After another few minutes - or doboshes - Lance entered ‘START’.

* * *

 

Lance liked to think he could read a room better than he could read a book, and in the last few days, every room he stepped into brimmed with excitement as the team planned their next attack per Shiro’s suggestions. And despite the odd atmosphere that had settled in when Keith left - he did  _not_ miss Keith, oh no - something of their old energy returned when Pidge brought Matt Holt to the Castle.

Pidge’s cheer was easily explained, that she’d finally finally found the brother for whom she’d searched for over a year, and Shiro reunited with his old crewmate and classmate. Allura and Coran, of course, were eager to exploit his connection to the rebels - though Matt’s obvious attraction to Allura made Lance gnash his teeth in frustration and jealousy - but Hunk?

Hunk seemed to like having someone other than Pidge to tinker and brainstorm the sorts of ideas Lance couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around.

So yes, Lance was jealous; he didn’t even have to deny it, or search his feelings, because jealousy wasn’t so much an emotion to him as an old friend that visited at the worst times. Because Matt Holt was funny, smart, had his friends’ attention, and was actually good-looking.

(Of course he was  _attractive_ ; he was related to Pidge!)

Hunk, bless his heart, tried to soothe his concerns. “Of course we’re not  _replacing_  you, Lance,” he said, rolling his eyes. He patted Lance’s back, reassuring by touch. “We’re just working on something that you’re not interested in.”

“I know, I know,” Lance admitted. He smiled - though it felt more like a grimace - and waved a dismissive hand. “I mean, I  _could_ help…?” He trailed off, hopeful as he peered at Hunk.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really? You want to help with Voltron’s cloaking?”

“Uh, sure?”

“Well, last time you offered to help me and Pidge, you complained of boredom and that we weren’t  _speaking English_ and left before we finished.” Hunk crossed his arms. “So forgive me for not taking you up on your offer.”

“All right, fine,” Lance said. “Just know that you’re depriving yourself of my…dexterity.” He held his hands up, stretching his fingers.

“Your jazz hands won’t convince me,” Hunk said, but he smiled and waved on his way out of the lounge to the Green Lion’s hangar, where Pidge - and  _Matt -_ would be waiting for him.

Lance groaned and buried his face in his hands, but he looked up when he felt eyes on him. “Well, at least you’ll still keep me company,” he said to Chulatt, who stood upright on the floor a meter away from his feet. “Though I guess…you can’t keep a secret from the princess, can you?” When the mouse nodded a confirmation, Lance sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa. “Is it bad that I miss the way things were before Pidge found her brother?”

Chulatt climbed up his leg, tiny but sharp claws digging into his jeans and scraping his skin, and perched on his knee. It scratched at an ear, silently bidding Lance to continue if he wished.

“I mean, I  _am_ happy for her,” Lance insisted, “but I also feel…jealous. Which is weird, right? She’s not  _my_ sister, but Matt’s better-looking than–” He squinted at the mouse. “Wait, why would Pidge even  _care_ how good-looking her  _brother_ is?” He rubbed his face, wondering if he imagined the sudden heat in the room - was someone messing with the thermostat again? He tapped his foot, agitated and confused. “This doesn’t even make sense.”

Chulatt chattered incomprehensibly - unlike Allura, Lance did not speak ‘mouse’, least of all the Altean dialect of it - before jumping off his leg and skittering to the lounge door.

“Really?” Lance said with a raised eyebrow. “Listen to my problems without even offering me some sympathy?” He laughed. “Quiznak, I vent to  _mice_ now. Space is weird.” He then stood up, stretching his arms over his head, and walked towards the door.

Pidge herself intercepted him before he made it out. And Pidge…alone, for once.

“Look who showed her face today,” Lance quipped.

Pidge, her attention mostly on the tablet balanced on her arm, glanced up at him, eyes wide and startled. “Uh, hi, Lance,” she said.

“Where’s Matt?” He crossed his arms and appraised her.

Pidge adjusted her glasses, pushing them further up her nose. “In Green’s hangar,” she said. “He and Hunk are still working, but I forgot something in my room.”

“This isn’t your room though,” Lance said, gesturing around the lounge.

Pidge blinked, her eyes slipping past him into the room. “Oh,” she said a little lamely. “Guess I just…wasn’t watching where I was going.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, concern for her superseding his irritation at her. “You okay, Pidge?”

“Yeah, fine,” she said, frowning. “I was just deep in thought, that’s all. Not like this hasn’t happened to me before.”

“Oh.”

Before he could say anything else, Pidge turned and left, but she glanced back over her shoulder as the door closed, offering him a smile and a wave.

Lance smiled back, though by then the door separated them, so he knew she wouldn’t see.

* * *

 

He couldn’t really explain why he didn’t go to dinner, instead lying on his bed in the dark and trying to ignore the hungry sounds his stomach made. And if they talked shop during the meal, well, he would be brought up to speed in the morning; it wasn’t like they needed him while everyone else refined their plans.

Lance knew he was sulking  _again_ , and all because Matt arrived at the Castle, stealing Pidge’s - and everyone else’s, but mostly Pidge’s - attention off him. He hadn’t been  _replaced_ , exactly -  _he_ was still a Paladin after all - but it felt pretty close, and the more he thought about it, the worse he felt.

He tapped his fingers against his belly, humming a slow tune - an old lullaby - and closing his eyes. Maybe if he slept early, he could wake up early and hit the training deck before everyone else woke up–

The door slid open without his prompting, the lights flickering on at the motion. Lance shot upright, head spinning with the abruptness, and Pidge faced him from her place in the doorway, a small frown on her face.

“Where were you during dinner?” she demanded. “You’ve never missed a meal before.”

“Pretty sure you have me confused with Hunk,” Lance said, flashing her a smirk that he wasn’t sure he felt.

But Pidge  _did_ come looking for him…

“And  _I’m_ pretty sure that for you it’s an opportunity to  _socialize_.” Pidge rolled her eyes but approached him without waiting for his permission. “Why’d you miss anyway?”

“Not hungry,” Lance said, shrugging.

When his stomach growled, calling him out on his lie, Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Really,” she deadpanned. “I guess that’s the sound of your stomach  _digesting itself_ , then.”

“Something like that,” Lance said, patting his abdomen.

“Fine, I don’t know why you were sitting in the dark and sulking, but I’ll let you have this.”

“What?” Lance said, peering at her in surprise, but his suspicions were aroused.

But then she said, “Yeah, I mean, if you want privacy, who am  _I_ to deny it to you?” She pressed a hand to her chest and  _smirked_. “It would make me a hypocrite if I pried, wouldn’t it?”

Lance set his feet on the floor and leaned towards her. “You mean you’re not curious?”

“Not at all!” Pidge said. “You’re probably  _sad_ that Allura isn’t paying attention to you–”

“ _No_ –”

“–or maybe you’re worried about Keith–”

“ _As if!”_

“–or even you’re annoyed that Hunk doesn’t have time for you right now!”

Lance winced, as that hit a little too close to home. But quiznak, he’d never thought Pidge paid him that much attention… “Maybe…a little,” he admitted carefully, rubbing the back of his neck.

Pidge’s amusement dissolved, a frown replacing her smirk as she sat beside him, leaving a good few centimeters between them. “So what’s wrong, sharpshooter?”

“Sharpshooter?” Lance asked, narrowing his eyes at her. “Since when do you call me that?”

Pidge shrugged. “Stop changing the subject,” she said, elbowing him in the side, but Lance thought he caught a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

He smiled at that. “So you do care about me?”

Her eyes widened, and she said, “Of course I do? Why the quiznak wouldn’t I?”

Lance pinched his lips together to keep himself from frowning and confessed, “I just feel like I haven’t been seeing you much lately.”

“Oh.” Pidge stared ahead, at the wall opposite his bed, her hands resting on her knees and knuckles white. “That’s…you know I didn’t do it on purpose, right?”

“I know, I know,” Lance said. He picked at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. “You just got your brother back, and he, you, and Hunk are setting things up for Voltron’s next plan of attack, but I can’t really help it.”

“I get that,” Pidge said, shooting him a sideways glance. “I…sometimes feel like that too, about…others.”

Lance raised a curious eyebrow at her. “Anyone in particular?”

Pidge rapidly shook her head, and though there was something distinctly dishonest about the gesture, he didn’t question it. Instead, she did something else that shocked him, distracting him from trying to analyze what a simple shake of the head meant other than  _no_.

Pidge hugged him, arms slipping under his and wrapping around him, her grip remarkably strong for her size. He returned her affection without hesitation, kind of enjoying the feeling of her warmth pressed into him, her heart pounding a beat against his side. “I am sorry I made you feel like that, Lance,” she told him, voice quiet. “I know we weren’t good friends at the Garrison, but I promise you mean a lot to me now, and–” She cut herself off with a sarcastic laugh. “Am I making any sense?”

Lance wished he could explain what caused the flutter in his stomach - quite unlike a pang of hunger - and the warmth blooming in his chest. “You’re making perfect sense,” he reassured her, running fingers through her soft hair.

Pidge showed no sign of letting go of him anytime soon, so Lance leaned back until his back hit the wall, with her joining him, one of her arms still slung across his chest with her head on his shoulder. “If you want,” she said, “we can play  _Killbot_ tonight? Just the two of us?”

“That sounds great,” Lance said with a smile. He turned his head a bit, bumping his nose to the crown of her head. “But I…kind of want to just sit like this for a little longer, if that’s all right with you.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Pidge said, a teasing quality to her voice.

Lance then wondered why he’d ever had any doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~i'm so out of practice writing any kind of angst so this may not be great~~


	50. Seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Randomly prompted from a tumblr user
> 
> Modern/college AU, fluff (?), not as suggestive as the title...suggests

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170029305588/hey-girl-hows-it-been-anyway-if-you-can-and-if)

Pidge didn’t drag her feet when she agreed to go with Matt to the party, but she didn’t promise to have a good time.  _You’ll have fun!_ he said. Well, Pidge didn’t believe him, and as she scowled into her drink - suspiciously, because she didn’t even trust the Sprite to be safe - and thought longingly of brand new video game waiting to be freed of its packaging at home, a  _frat boy_ sauntered up to her.

At first she didn’t hear his query, either because the room was too loud with music and too crowded with dancing bodies…or because her brain filtered his words out, for when they finally registered, they made no sense.

“This is going to sound really weird, but can I kiss you?”

Pidge slowly glanced up from her drink and gaped at him. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t think I heard you right.”

The boy - who looked a couple years older than her at most, and more than a head taller - smiled sheepishly and asked, “Can I kiss you?”

“What?” Pidge said, eyes wide and stunned. Absurdly her heart pounded, almost louder than her raucous surroundings. “No!”

“Oh, well, that sucks.” He shot a glance over his shoulder, towards the room at large, though from the way he scanned the crowd it seemed that he searched for someone.

Then he leaned against the wall just beside Pidge, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers. She pinched her lips together and glared at her drink.

“Look,” she said, “I’m really  _not_ interested–”

“Oh, me neither!” he said, his tone cheerful now. When Pidge swiveled her head around to raise an eyebrow at him, he raised his hands defensively and grinned. “I just saw my ex-girlfriend, so I needed to find someone to  _pretend_ to be interested, you know?”

Unimpressed - and with a face warm with embarrassment - Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “No,” she deadpanned, “I do not.” She stood upright and pushed herself away from the wall…and away from him.

“Wait, hey!” he called from behind her. “That came out wrong!”

“No kidding,” Pidge grumbled under her breath as she stalked towards the back of the house, away from the densest rooms, through the kitchen, and out the door into the garden.

The backyard was small, as close to the city as the house was, but well-furnished with lawn chairs and a few tables on grass already turning brown for the autumn. Music with a pounding bass drifted from inside, but at least this far it didn’t rattle Pidge’s bones.

Unfortunately, solitude did not prove so simple to find, for in addition to other party goers seeking some peace, the guy from inside caught up to her.

“I’m  _not_ kissing you,” Pidge told him as he approached. She held her cup out towards him threateningly.

“Worry not,” he said with a conciliatory smile. “I’m not here to come onto you.”

“Then why did you follow me?” she demanded.

He glanced at the cup in her hand. “Are you going to pour that over my head if I tell you something you don’t like?”

Pidge cleared her throat and lowered her makeshift weapon. “You have experience with that?”

“Actually, no,” he said with a smirk. “I just watch a lot of movies.”

“Fine.” Pidge rolled her eyes. “What did you want?”

“Just to…apologize.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I saw my ex, panicked, and propositioned the first girl I saw…and it just happened to be you.”

“A wallflower?” Pidge raised a skeptical eyebrow. “How does a  _wallflower_ grab your attention?”

He hummed thoughtfully and shrugged. “Don’t know,” he said. “You were just the only in there not even trying to have a good time.”

“Ha, you caught me.” Pidge couldn’t help a slight smile, despite her sarcasm. “Are you going to kick me out now, since I’m not enjoying your frat party?”

“Maybe I should see that you enjoy it instead?”

Pidge snorted and shuffled her feet. Idly, she sipped at her drink, pretending that it hadn’t gone flat since she poured it. “Fat chance of that happening,” she said.

He leaned a little towards her. “Then what can I do to see that you do?”

“And why do you care?” Pidge wondered suspiciously. She wiped a sweaty palm on her pants, careful to keep an eye on the boy who had some kind of interest in her, accident or not.

“Because if  _I’m_ a host - and really, I  _am_ sorry for making you uncomfortable earlier - then shouldn’t I want all my guests to have fun?”

“Well, unless you have a brand spanking new copy of  _Killbot Phantasm II_  upstairs in your room, you won’t succeed.”

Pidge said it half-jokingly, unable to resist flashing him a smirk as she issued him an impossible challenge - of  _course_ he wouldn’t have the very game she was dying to play while she suffered at a crowded and noisy frat party! Except…

Pidge frowned at him, taking note of  _his_ slow smirk. “Why…why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because, my dear lady,” he said cheerfully, “I happen to have a ‘brand spanking new copy’ of  _Killbot Phantasm II_ upstairs…though, admittedly, in a frat brother’s room rather than in mine.” He shrugged and said, “He’s more into gaming than I am.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope, not about this.” He smiled at her hopefully. “You want to go upstairs?”

Pidge brandished her half-full cup of flat soda at him. “Oh, I’ve seen enough movies to know where  _this_ goes, so no, I don’t think so.”

He scowled at her. “Really? I swear, I’m not interested in  _that_ ; I just want you to have fun.”

Pidge considered him for a beat. He did seem genuine - and indignant that she’d imply that he wanted to seduce her - and regretful of the  _incident_ inside, but tempting as it was… “Whose name should I use when we engage in trash talk?”

He grinned and pressed a thumb to his chest. “The name’s Lance,” he said, “and if you think I’ll let you beat me–”

“You said yourself you’re not into gaming,” Pidge interrupted, shaking her head at him disparagingly.

Lance scoffed. “I’m a quick study, especially when I’ve got someone to beat.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, almost suggestively, and Pidge couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her lips.

“Fine,” she said. “I’m Pidge. Also”–she dramatically held her arm out to him–”you may escort me upstairs.”

Pidge smiled as Lance accepted her arm, for once not regretting allowing Matt to drag her along.


	51. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "You're never this quiet. What's wrong?"
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff
> 
> And nominally an 'intraquel' ~~not a word~~ to ["In the Making"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13234251), but you don't have to read that one to understand this one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170180217193/we-could-get-struck-by-lightning-but-you-want-to)

Pidge managed to make it to her bedroom door without stumbling, but once there, her sluggish, sleep-deprived body – for all that she spent the last eight vargas sleeping off a head injury in a healing pod – failed her.

She kept her balance though, albeit with the help of the wall, leaning against it before the Castle’s artificial gravity could drag her to the floor. Her head spun, vision blurring, and the only thing that felt real in that moment was the hard wall pressing into her shoulder – and Lance’s fingers wrapped almost too tight around her upper arm.

Actually, there was an excellent chance that she hadn’t fallen because  _Lance_ held her upright.

“Ow,” she said, more on reflex rather than because his grip hurt.

“Sorry,” he said. He let go but hovered, frowning at her as she put a hand to her head. “Do you need—”

“I don’t need you to carry me,” she grumbled, not for the first time. “It’s just a dizzy spell.” She straightened, keeping one hand planted on the wall as she carefully moved away from it.

The bedroom door slid open when her fingers finally brushed the doorframe, and she walked over the threshold without any more difficulty. Without bothering to change her clothes, she face-planted onto her bed, burying her face into the pillow and sighing in relief.

“Uh…”

Oh, Pidge had almost forgotten Lance. “Thank you, Lance,” she said, turning her head to glance towards the door.

“You…need anything else?” he asked her, tone cautious.

Pidge shook her head. “I just need sleep,” she admitted.

“Okay,” he said, lowering his voice. “Sleep tight, Pidge.” The door slid shut behind him.

Pidge rolled onto her side, facing the wall, after Lance left. Oddly fascinating, the plain white wall seemed then. She held her arms close to her chest, seeking a comfortable position, right before reconsidering and grabbing a fallen blanket off the floor to cover up.

Her father slept in a room just a few doors down the hallway, and that thought alone preoccupied her mind, kept her from succumbing to the exhaustion that sat in her body. So instead she stared wide-eyed at the wall and bided her time till the lights in the hallway would turn on.

A soft knock sounded from the door what felt like only a few doboshes later. Pidge bolted upright and swung her legs out of bed, wondering if the day cycle had already begun. “Who is it?” she called.

“It’s me again,” Lance’s voice called, quietly enough he wouldn’t disturb the rest of the Castle’s residents.

“I thought you went to bed,” Pidge said, frowning at the door. She froze from where she groped from her slippers, then asked, “Are  _you_ all right?”

“Oh, I’m great,” Lance said. “But, you can’t sleep, can you?”

Pidge gaped at the door. “H-how the quiznak did you know that?”

“Call it intuition, I guess. I figured you’re still worried about your dad.”

“What’s your excuse then?” she wondered. She tapped her fingers on her wrinkled bedspread, heart pounding fast with anxiety or excitement or both.

“We’ve only got a couple more vargas until we have to be up,” Lance explained. “Not really a point in sleeping, is there?”

Pidge snorted and said, “Is it worth missing even a little beauty sleep for you?”

“You make it worthwhile,” Lance said.

Her breath caught, and she covered her face as it warmed. But before she could think of anything to say, he added:

“Besides, I’m plenty beautiful anyway!”

“Of course,” Pidge muttered. She glanced up at the door and said, “You can come in, if you want.”

The door opened to admit him, and as he walked in, arms extended over his head in a luxurious stretch, he remarked, “Oh, I thought you were going to make me stand out there for the rest of the night.”

“I’d only do that if I thought I could sleep,” she said, shrugging as he stood in front of her. When he didn’t respond immediately, simply eyed her, she frowned, quirking an eyebrow at him and reaching out with a foot to nudge his shin. “You’re almost never this quiet, Lance. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not even been that long since I said anything,” Lance said, rolling his eyes.

“Even a few tics is plenty long for you.” Pidge patted the spot beside her and smiled. “At least sit?”

“ _Fine_ ,” Lance said as he sat where she indicated, his shoulder brushing hers.

Rather than lean into him like was her first inclination, she shifted backwards until her back was to the wall, her feet not quite long enough to hang off the edge of the bed. Lance followed suit, sitting close enough to share warmth.

“So what’re you thinking about?” Lance asked, elbowing her in the side.

Pidge sighed and pulled her feet towards herself. “Just that I barely saw my dad before I passed out.” Her memory of the mission right before sustaining the injury was hazy, but she could recall the eerie sticky dampness in her hair while her father and Keith held her upright between them.

 _“Why the quiznak did you delay?”_ Keith had demanded.

 _“Stay awake, Katie,”_ Sam had said, sterner and calmer than Keith.

“Quiznak, I’m an awful daughter,” she realized. Her heart sank as the words escaped her lips without her permission, and she turned and pressed her forehead into Lance’s shoulder.

“Uh…what gave you that idea?” Lance said.

“I should’ve taken him to safety immediately,” she said, wringing the edge of the bedspread with both hands. “I shouldn’t have delayed just for some data we might not need.” She bit her lip and rubbed an itchy eye, swallowing against the unwelcome lump in her throat. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Pidge,” Lance said. He poked her in the cheek, repeatedly until she swatted at him and glanced up to see him frowning at her. “He’s not going to blame you for getting hurt; he’s going to thank you for rescuing him.”

“I-I know,” she admitted. She wiped an unwelcome tear from her cheek and scowled. “But  _I’ll_ know, even if he won’t say anything, and—”

“You’ll see that it won’t be so bad,” Lance interrupted again. When she opened her mouth to contradict him – or scold him for cutting her off her self-deprecation – he added, “He wanted to stay up and wait for you too.”

Pidge hugged her legs to her chest. “I know,” she said, “but I can’t help worrying. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“You won’t,” Lance reassured her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. “He’ll be proud of you.”

Pidge smiled very slightly, remembering her father’s promise before he left on his ill-fated mission. “Yeah, but I’m pretty sure  _this_ wasn’t what he had in mind when he said the whole universe would take notice of me.”

Lance, after a brief, confused hesitation, laughed, his body rumbling pleasantly against hers. “That’s so…prophetic of him,” he quipped.

“I know, right?” Pidge chuckled, amused more by Lance’s reaction than by the memory; she’d dwelled on its irony enough in the last few years. “What were  _you_ thinking then?”

Lance shrugged, jostling her a bit. “Just about you, I guess.”

“About  _me_?”

He glanced sideways at her. “Yeah, why not? You kind of worried me for a bit there, in case it wasn’t obvious.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m fine now,” she said.

“Yeah,  _now_.” Lance rolled his eyes, and for a moment, when he didn’t elaborate and simply let Pidge be confused and not a little flustered, she thought that was the end of it, but then he surprised her by enveloping her in a hug, both of his arms fitting snugly around her.

“Again?” she said, sinking into him but also awkwardly rubbing his back.

“I like hugs,” he grumbled, “and I know you do too.”

Pidge’s lips twitched into an involuntary smile. “That’s fair,” she conceded. He might’ve taken her off-guard with the embrace, but she still allowed herself to bask in the warmth.

* * *

Pidge opened her eyes to a bedroom only illuminated by the display in her wall, comfortably snuggled against…a warm body.

Lance.

All traces of exhaustion fled Pidge as she stiffened, but his breathing – low and deep – calmed the sudden spiking of her heartbeat. She relaxed back into his arms, more than willing to test how long she could get away with letting him hold her, at least until she glanced at the time displaying from the wall.

“Quiznak,” she hissed. Carefully, she tried to extricate herself from Lance’s hold, but he muttered something under his breath and pulled her closer. “Lance,” she said softly, “we overslept.”

“Five more minutes,” he said, his voice muffled by her hair.

Pidge rolled her eyes and said, “Lance, my dad’s  _awake_ by now.”

As if called, someone knocked on her door, followed up with a single quiet word in a familiar voice.

“Katie.”

 _Holy quiznak._ “Lance, do you  _want_ my dad to find us in bed together?”

“All right, I’m awake.” Lance disentangled their limbs and sat up, yawning widely and rubbing his eyes.

Pidge shoved the blanket off and walked to the door, but she didn’t give it a chance to open completely before she launched herself into her father’s arms. “Dad!” she said as he caught her against him with a soft  _oof_. “How long have you been awake?” She pulled away to look at him, smiling so widely her cheeks would likely be sore later.

“Only a couple…vargas?” he said, frowning as he puzzled through the new terminology.

Pidge laughed and said, “Why didn’t you wake up earlier?”

“I spoke with that ginger fellow,” Sam explained, “and he said you didn’t get to bed for a while.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Your habits haven’t changed much even in space then?”

Pidge snorted but her grin didn’t falter. As she grabbed her robe from a pile of hopefully clean laundry on the floor, she admitted, “If anything, they’re worse now.”

Sam glanced critically around her room. “I can see that.” He sighed, but then he smiled as she took his hand in both of hers. “You really worried me before.”

“I know,” Pidge said, eyes swiveling towards the ground. Her palms sweated, but she didn’t let go of her father’s hand, fearing he’d disappear again if she did. “I…can’t really promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know.” Sam tugged her closer again, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Thank you, Katie.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” she swore.

“I’m sure.” He smiled at her.

Pidge grinned and said, “I already gave Matt a tour of the Castle, so it’s your turn now.”

“Oh, I would love one!” Her father brightened as she pulled him away from her room and down the hall.

Pidge opened her mouth, a speech about the Castle’s layout and features already prepared, but then Sam glanced sideways at her with a concerned frown and asked, “By the way, Katie, who was that in your bed?”

Pidge nearly lost her balance again as she tripped over her own feet, only her father’s hold on her hand steadying her.

* * *

Lance pushed the blanket away from his face and sat back up after the door closed behind Pidge and her father. “This is fine,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just forget me here, why don’t you?”

He still smiled, pleased and warm, committing the look on Pidge’s face to memory, and said, “Told you so.”

Then he lay back down – Pidge’s bed suited him just fine – and tugged the blanket back over him, deciding to catch up on his beauty sleep after all.


	52. Understood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “There was this perfect moment. This perfect moment where everything that I wanted was clearly in front of me… and i understood.”
> 
> Modern AU, angst-ish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170216231628/if-you-find-yourself-with-the-time-and-the)

“I am a simple man,” Lance said. He kicked at the sand, spraying dust everywhere, watching as a startled seagull took flight nearby.

“Really?” He could hear Pidge’s skepticism in that single word, but before he could explain, she asked, “You would call a man with a morning routine more complex than a supermodel’s  _simple_?”

Lance snorted, but he still smiled, amused. “Maybe not  _that_ kind of simple,” he amended.

“Right,” said Pidge, “if you say so.” She glanced towards the water, the crashing white-capped waves, reflected sunlight glittering, before resuming their walk along the shore.

Lance followed, letting her set their pace, almost more interested in the way their feet sunk into the sand. He carried his shoes and socks in one hand, but Pidge stubbornly persisted in her old, faded sneakers.

“So we’ve established that you’re a simple man,” Pidge said, interrupting the silence only broken by waves and the screeching of seagulls. “What does that have to do with me?” She still wouldn’t look at him, hadn’t since they met again for the first time in months, not with their last encounter hanging over both of their heads.

Really, it was only thanks to Hunk’s power of persuasion that Pidge agreed to meet Lance again at all.

“I’m getting to that,” Lance said. He shot a sideways glance at her, eyes widening as they met hers by accident.

Pidge’s gaze flicked away from him immediately, instead fixed on some point on the sand ahead of them. “Then get on with it.”

Lance rolled his eyes, biting his lip. He longed to make some kind of joke, something that  _maybe_ would soften Pidge towards him, but at this point he knew she wouldn’t have the patience for that. Instead, he said, “I quit my job.”

Pidge halted, and when he stopped beside her, sand trickling between his toes, she swiveled to face him, her eyes wide. “You  _quit_?”

Lance nodded and smiled sheepishly, offering her a shrug. “I quit the best job I’m ever going to have,” he said cheerfully.

Pidge gaped at him, then said, “Are you an  _idiot_?”

He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her, suppressing a flash of annoyance. “I thought you said that I was an idiot for working at Galra Corp. I’m cured now, right?”

Pidge’s jaws flapped uselessly, but Lance counted it as a victory since she at least looked at him. Then she asked, “Why?”

“I…” Lance shuffled his feet, pushing sand aside and digging them deeper. “I thought about what you said and decided you were right, that it wasn’t worth it.”

Pidge crossed her arms. “And you came to this decision on your own, did you?”

“I guess?”

She sighed, then shook her head. “Lance, I don’t… _understand_ you. It was your dream job, right?” She gestured towards the sky, trying to encompass it all in the span of her short arms. “You were a  _test pilot_!”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he said, before slyly adding, “I’m sure there’s a lot you can say about  _that_.” Then, hoping he likely had Pidge’s attention for a good long while, he shrugged out of his jacket, spread it on the sand, and sat. He stretched his legs out in front of him and patted the spot next to him.

Pidge took it, but without getting quite as comfortable, instead pulling her knees up to her face. “So you quit your dream job?”

“So I quit my dream job,” he agreed. His fingers dug into coarse sand, the particles catching under his fingernails, as he looked out at the ocean. “There was this perfect moment,” he said, recalling the day he got the offer, the day he accepted, the day he met his boss… “This perfect moment where everything that I wanted was clearly in front of me…” He remembered the file left open on his boss’s desk, remembered glancing over it without meaning to, remembered the crash in the news…remembered Pidge’s last words to him.

Lance turned his head, almost surprised when she met his eyes, but he plowed on, “And I understood.”

Pidge leaned towards him, wide-eyed and eager. “What did you understand then?”

“I understand that it’s not worth it,” he said. Cautiously, he rested his sandy hand on hers, feeling the warmth of her skin more acutely than the sun’s. “It’s not right what they did to your dad, and I’m sorry if I never got that before.”

To his relief, Pidge didn’t withdraw her hand, but she frowned at him. “I…Lance, you didn’t quit for  _me,_ did you?”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “You never even wanted me to take the job,” he pointed out.

“But I also want you to think for yourself,” she retorted. She pulled her hand away so that his hit the soft – too hard, too compact – sand again, resting her arms on her knees and her chin on top. “Don’t do it on  _my_ account.”

“Well, if I was doing it on  _your_ account,” Lance grumbled, “I wouldn’t have taken the damn job.”

Pidge glanced sideways at him. “I…you’re right,” she said, surprising him.

Lance still smirked, as if he knew it all along. “Yeah?”

Pidge nodded and admitted, “I might’ve been a little harsh on you.”

“A  _little_?” Lance said, scowling. “You  _dumped_ me!”

“Because you defended the corporation responsible for destroying my father’s reputation!” Pidge planted her hands on the ground, pushing herself to her feet and facing him from higher, where she cast a shadow over him. “I  _told_ you what happened, Lance, and you  _still_ took the job!”

Lance stood, gesturing wide with his arms. “Because I didn’t have any other options, Pidge! What was I supposed to do, wait around for the next job?”

“Yes!” she said, glaring at him.

“And what if it didn’t come?”

“It would’ve  _eventually_.” She crossed her arms. “And before you spout some excuse about needing a paycheck immediately,  _my_ job would’ve done fine for both us for a while.”

“But—”

Pidge turned her back to him and started trudging back down the way they came. “I don’t want to hear it, Lance.”

“Wait, Pidge—”

“I’m glad you came to your senses,” she added, tossing a glance – and the slightest hint of a smile – at him over her shoulder.

“You’re right that it shouldn’t have taken me this long,” Lance finally said. He stared at the ground, his stomach an uncomfortable tangle of shame.

“It was your dream job,” Pidge reminded him. She turned and faced him again, but came no closer. “I…maybe I understand too.”

Lance smiled, despite the negative feelings twisting inside him, and wondered why they’d started making excuses for each other. He shrugged and looked back up at Pidge, and he said, “Maybe I have other dreams to pursue.”

“Yeah,” Pidge said, “maybe you do.”

She kept ahead of him, all the way back down the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> meh this may be my least favorite thing i've ever written


	53. Fool Me Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Have you ever lied to me?"
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170254602013/have-you-ever-lied-to-me-canonverse-and-plance)
> 
> This is the second one I posted today, so if you're here you might've missed the last chapter

The screen pronounced GAME OVER with flair, red bursts of pixelated fireworks and excessive exclamation points following as the music descended a scale. Lance’s character lay dead on the ground with the boss standing over it, gloating.

Lance scowled at the screen, at the level he’d been stuck on for  _weeks_. As the screen went black and returned to the title, he resolved himself to an extreme course of action:

It was time to ask Pidge for help.

Lance dropped the controller and stood, marching out the door and in the direction of the Green Lion’s hangar, where he expected to find Pidge writing code or analyzing data or tinkering away with a salvaged robot. What he did  _not_ expect was a hangar empty of both Paladin…and Lion.

“You have  _got_ to be kidding me!”

Lance crossed his arms, agitatedly tapping his foot. Rationally he knew that his progress in a video game wasn’t a big deal, but his expectations were high. He  _needed_ Pidge, and she wasn’t there in his time of need!

But before he could strain his memory for some recollection of a mission of hers that he wasn’t privy to, a ping sounded from one of the many devices scattered on her desk. When Lance turned to it, a light flashed so bright it left him blinking. “What…?”

A blue projection appeared over the desk, and Lance approached cautiously to see a figure he thought he recognized from meetings with the rebels in the Coalition. He quirked an eyebrow at the holoscreen and said, “Uh, can I help you?”

The rebel blinked three eyes at him and said in a tremulous voice, “Where’s Pidge? I have news about her brother.”

Lance stiffened, glancing over his shoulder, half-expecting Pidge herself to materialize behind him to take the call. “She’s not here,” he told the rebel, “but I can take a message.”

The rebel flashed a set of teeth, though on them it didn’t look like a smile. They said, “Are you sure she wouldn’t want to hear this herself?”

Lance crouched in front of the screen and shrugged. “Maybe, but I promise to deliver the message to her.”

They blinked at him again, but then they said, “Very well. Tell Pidge that Matt sustained an injury on his last mission.”

Lance’s eyes widened. “Is he going to be okay?” he demanded, leaning towards the projection.

The rebel gestured with a webbed hand and said, “I don’t know. Our physicians are doing what they can, but he lost a lot of blood.”

“I…I’ll tell her,” Lance said. He swallowed and grimaced as the rebel saluted him, promising to contact Pidge again if anything changed.

Lance sat back on his heels after they ended the call. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ground himself with the sensation as he realized he now carried the worst news he could possibly give Pidge when she returned from her mission.

She hadn’t even found her father yet; what if she lost her brother  _again_ too?

Lance paced the hangar, but an alarm interrupted his contemplation, alerting him to the Green Lion’s impending return. But rather than relief and his usual cheer at the reunion, his heart pounded almost preemptively as he left the hangar.

 _What do I do?_ Lance wondered. He leaned against the wall just outside the Green Lion’s hangar, the voice in his head telling him to at least seek Hunk’s advice, but instead he stood frozen.

Pidge found him like that within a few doboshes, her helmet tucked under her arm. “Lance?” she said, raising a curious eyebrow at him.

Lance jumped, startled. “Pidge!” he said, grinning so widely his cheeks would probably hurt later. He propped an elbow in what he hoped was a casual manner on the wall and asked, “So how was your mission?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “Not bad. Are you okay, Lance?”

Lance snorted and waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’m  _great_! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “You’re just acting a little too…cheerful.”

“I’m  _always_  cheerful!” Lance retorted. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “But, well, I  _did_ need to…talk to you.”

The voice inside his head spoke up, the truth of the matter demanding he tell her, but when Pidge only stared at him, a question in her eyes, a different truth spilled out instead. And with it, Lance could almost convince himself he did the right thing from withholding, from not worrying her, because she  _laughed_ – and he didn’t want to be the one to take that away from her.

So Lance only said, “Mind helping me beat the last boss?”

* * *

 

“Our love is a  _lie_!” Lance pronounced dramatically as he marched into the lounge, carrying a  _very_ familiar notebook in his hand.

“Hey, that’s my old journal!” Pidge said. She jumped up from her spot and shot towards him.

Lance, predictably, raised it over his head, but Pidge refused to jump for it. Instead she decided to bide her time, wait until he either let his guard down or when she could tackle him for it.

Lance held the open notebook in one hand while he looked at her. He explained, “I was doing a bit of reading when—”

“Where the quiznak did you even  _find_ that thing?” Pidge demanded. Embarrassing as much of its contents were – she liked to think she’d refined her scientific methodology since their time at the Garrison – she’d hidden it away in some dark corner of her bedroom, reluctant to throw it out –  _never_ destroy research, her father always advised – but determined to forget it existed. And now that  _Lance_ came across it…

“Well, you  _did_ send me to get one of your other notebooks,” Lance pointed out. “But then I saw this and couldn’t help myself once I recognized it.”

Pidge crossed her arms. “Are you  _serious_?”

Lance smiled sheepishly at her. “Sorry,” he said. “It’s just that on Earth, you were so secretive. What you might’ve been hiding then kind of…tempted me?”

“You’re weaker than I thought,” Pidge said.

“First of all, that was rude though not untrue,” Lance conceded. “Second of all…” He grinned impishly – Pidge braced herself – and asked, “Would you like to know what I found out?”

Pidge scowled at him. “Do your worst,” she challenged.

Lance threw himself onto the sofa and patted the spot next to him. “Take a seat, my love,” he said. “This could take a while.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but consented, wondering what information about  _herself_ he wished to disclose.

Lance flipped to one of the first pages in the journal and pointed to a doodle in the margins. “Is that a…cat?” he asked.

Pidge squinted at it. “It’s Bae-Bae,” she said.

“Your dog?” When Pidge nodded, he brought the page up to his face and squinted at it. “That does  _not_ look like a dog.”

She grumbled, “I’m not the best artist.”

“Well, I think you did a pretty good job with that Voltron sketch.” Lance waggled his eyebrows at her. “Especially considering you’d never seen it yet.”

Pidge shrugged and said, “I suppose you could do better?”

Lance grinned. “Maybe.”

She snorted, skeptical – she remembered the doodles in Lance’s notes from class – but didn’t contradict him.

“Anyway, and  _here_ we have…damning evidence.” He turned another page, pointing at the headshots of her father, brother, and Shiro taped onto it. “Imagine if this had fallen into the wrong hands.”

“Sort of like it has now,” Pidge agreed.

Lance retorted, “Please, Pidge, I know  _all_ your secrets now… _including_ the fact that you thought I was cute even at the Garrison.” He pointed at a page full of notes about him and Hunk, his fingertip landing on a very short sentence so vigorously scratched out it was almost illegible.

 _Almost_.

Pidge flushed. “Does that even—why does that matter now?” she asked, waving her arms and gesturing between them. “We’re  _dating_ now – or, I guess, as close to dating as we can get here – so  _of course_ I think you’re cute!”

“Aha!” Lance said with a triumphant grin. “The liar confesses!”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Pidge said. Then she scowled and prodded his chest. “Things were different back then!”

“Yes, true.” Lance smiled, something a little softer, and snapped the journal shut. He leaned towards her, an arm fitting snugly around her shoulders, and pressed a kiss to her temple.

Pidge smiled too; of  _course_ Lance only brought her old journal out to rub that fact into her face. “I mean, it’s not like  _you_ haven’t lied to me,” she grumbled, if halfheartedly.

Lance squirmed, withdrawing his arm, and agreed, “Yeah, sure.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him, noting the way he didn’t quite meet her eyes, his smile just a bit off. “Lance,” she said, swallowing, “ _have_ you ever lied to me?”

Lance’s gaze flitted to her face right before shifting away again. “Of course not! At least…nothing significant.”

Pidge wiped her hands on her pants and shifted a little closer to him. “Then why not tell me? You look guilty; confess, like you said. Get it off your chest.”

Lance finally met her eyes again, though now he frowned. “I…” He sighed and asked, “Remember when Matt didn’t contact you for a whole movement, and you were really worried about him? And then it turned out he’d been recovering from near-fatal injuries?” The words all spilled out in a rush, as if dying to escape him.

Pidge blinked at him, heart pounding. “Yeah,” she said, “but what does that have to do with you?”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck. “I…knew what happened.”

“You-you  _knew_?” Her eyes widened, her heart plummeting.

“You were on a mission when one of his rebel buddies called!” Lance quickly explained, holding his hands up defensively. “I answered, he told me that Matt was hurt and to tell you, and that was that!”

“Why the quiznak didn’t you tell me?” Pidge demanded. She clenched her hands into fists and glared at him.

“I didn’t want to worry you!” Lance retorted.

“Well, guess what, Lance?” Pidge hissed. “I was worried  _anyway_!”

“He’s fine now though!” he said.

“But he wasn’t then, and I deserved to  _know_.” Pidge snatched her old journal from Lance’s hands, and he was so stunned that he didn’t even seem to notice. She turned to leave, to storm out of the lounge and fume somewhere more private, but Lance’s voice stopped her.

“Pidge,” he said softly, “you’re right; I shouldn’t have kept that from you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she agreed, spinning around again to face him. She pressed a finger into his chest and said, “And if you  _ever_ keep something like this – something about  _my_ family – from me again…” She pinched her eyes shut, and despite her anger – despite Lance’s lie blowing up in both of their faces – the very thought of a breakup had her stomach twisting unpleasantly. “Just don’t, okay?”

“Okay,” Lance said quickly, nodding. He took her hand in both of his and squeezed. “I won’t, Pidge; I swear.”

“Good,” Pidge said. “Good.”


	54. Reboot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Take off your shirt."
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and attempted horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170331343023/hey-i-love-your-blog-could-you-do-take-off-your)

Pidge knew something was wrong the tic Lance didn’t react the way she expected him to when Allura hugged him. He smiled, but his brow held that little telltale wrinkle, like something bothered him more than he was letting on.

“I’m fine, Princess,” Lance said. He held his helmet in one hand as Allura pulled away and crossed her arms. “No, really! You guys were quick, so they never even had the chance to…do anything to me.”

Pidge swallowed, hand curling and uncurling as she eyed Lance, seeking for some sign of harm when the only thing amiss was his helmet hair.

“Are you  _sure_?” Allura pressed. “There was a  _Druid_ aboard that ship.”

“And I only saw them once!” Lance reassured her, waving his empty hand…right before rubbing the back of his neck. “They didn’t say anything to me, barely even touched me!”

“But they  _did_ touch you?” Pidge said, alarmed.

“I’m right as rain, Pidge,” he said, and before Allura could ask him how rain could be ‘right’, he smirked and added, “Though it  _is_ nice to have you ladies fussing over me. Maybe I’ll get captured more often.”

Pidge and Allura exchanged an annoyed glance. “He’s perfectly healthy,” Allura decided.

“ _Right as rain_ ,” Pidge agreed, rolling her eyes and storming off.

* * *

 

Their routine barely changed over the next quintants, Lance’s brief capture nothing more than a distraction, albeit an important one. Training and missions and meetings resumed as usual, and Pidge pushed her fears from those few vargas – and what they might mean – out of her mind.

Instead, she found herself observing Lance a little more closely than she used to, though unsure if that was due to his lack of any reaction to being a prisoner or for another reason. And along with her odd reactions – an elevated heartbeat, heat rushing to her cheeks, and palms sweating for no reason at all – to his sidelong glances and smiles, she noticed something  _else_ about Lance.

He reached for the back of his neck more often than he should, scratching idly at it anytime, during meetings and meals, training and downtime. Worse, after two quintants, his hand never strayed far from his neck, resting on his shoulder as his smile grew strained.

Pidge even  _let_ him beat her while they played a game one ‘evening’, and when he didn’t crow triumphantly like she’d expected – like she’d  _hoped_ – she asked him, “Are you all right?”

“Sure am!” Lance said cheerfully. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You just won a match,” Pidge pointed out, gesturing towards the screen, “and you’re not rubbing it in my face.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you  _want_ me to?”

“Yes!” Pidge said. She dropped her controller onto her lap and gestured towards him. “That’s what you  _do_! You brag about winning even the  _stupidest_ things, and you’re not doing that  _now_ , so tell me what’s wrong.”

Lance tapped his controller against the palm of his hand. “Uh…nothing’s wrong, Pidge,” he said. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

Pidge eyed Lance suspiciously, watching as his hand froze, what looked like a pained grimace fading as their eyes met, and decided she’d had enough. She said, “Lance, take off your shirt.”

“Well, well, well, Pidge,” Lance said with a smirk, “if you wanted to see me without my shirt, all you had to do was ask.”

Pidge glowered at him. “I’m asking now, so take off your quiznaking shirt!”

Lance raised his hands defensively. “All right, all right!” He kept grumbling under his breath as he tugged his t-shirt over his head.

His teasing was a good sign, Pidge thought, but something about him still seemed  _off_ and made her uneasy, even as he tossed his shirt aside and raised an expectant eyebrow at her. “So…like what you see?”

Pidge smacked an exasperated hand to her face. “Yes, Lance,” she gritted out, “you are quite attractive”—why did her cheeks warm even when making an objective statement?—“but that’s not my point.” She prodded his shoulder and made sure to meet his eyes. “Now where exactly does it hurt?”

Lance rolled his eyes but twisted his arm around to point at something on the back of his neck, turning around to give her a better view. Pidge sat behind him, narrowing her eyes at…what looked like an open sore at the base of his neck.

“Why didn’t you ask for a turn in the healing pod?” Pidge asked. She put her hand close to the sore; in diameter it was only about a finger width.

“It didn’t hurt at first,” Lance admitted. He flexed his shoulders, reaching over them to touch the sore – or attempt to, since Pidge slapped his hand away.

“Don’t touch it,” she warned him, frowning at it. “How did you get it anyway? You never mentioned it…” And  _that_ worried her too.

“I barely noticed it, to be honest.”

Pidge faced him and crossed her arms. “Then what  _did_ you notice?”

Lance frowned thoughtfully, grasping his chin rather than moving to put his shirt back on. “Well, they tied me up and dumped me in a cell, obviously, and then a-a Druid came to see me after…probably a few vargas.” He inhaled shakily, remembering.

Pidge took his hand and squeezed; he’d largely brushed off his brief imprisonment as nothing more than an unpleasant memory, but if the Druids even scared  _Shiro_ —

“They grabbed my shoulder like  _this_ ”—he reached out with the hand Pidge didn’t hold to grasp her shoulder, his grip firm, almost painful, fingertips reaching the back of her neck; her eyes widened but she otherwise didn’t react—“and they stood so close I thought I was going to meet my first space-vampire.” He loosened his hold on her but didn’t let go. “And then they let me go and left?” He chuckled. “They forgot to lock the cell door on their way out, so escape was pretty…easy.”

Pidge touched his raised arm, fingers near the crook of his elbow. “It sounds like some kind of setup,” she said.

“Why’s that?” Lance wondered.

Pidge sighed, letting go of his hand to rub her face. “Rescuing you was just…too easy. We met almost no resistance – just enough to make it seem like they were trying, but not enough to give us a hard time.” She wrung the hem of her sweater with both hands. “What did they  _do_ to you?”

Lance rubbed the back of his neck, wincing when he touched the sore. “I wish I could tell you; all I remember getting from them was a hug.” He shuddered, but then he flashed her a smile. “Still better than getting tortured, I guess.”

Pidge couldn’t help but be skeptical, at least until she figured what, exactly, that sore  _meant_. But for now she humored him and offered a reluctant smile of her own. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” she said.

“ _Probably_?”

She snorted and said, “Fine,  _definitely._ ” She covered her eyes then. “Now would you mind putting your shirt back on?”

Lance snickered, but he still blushed as he complied.

* * *

 

“If you don’t go into a healing pod willingly,” Pidge said, standing over Lance after a too-brief spar, activated bayard at her side, “I’m asking Hunk to carry you.”

“What makes you think I need a healing pod?” Lance wondered after he caught his breath. He blinked up at her from under his arm, slumped across his face.

“Because it was  _way_ too easy for me to knock you down,” Pidge explained.

“Hmm, like it was way too easy to beat you a couple nights ago?” Lance said. He sat up, agitatedly tapping his fingers as Pidge glared at him.

“I did  _n_ —”

“Don’t even try to deny it, Pidge.” Lance smirked at her. “It shouldn’t have been that easy.”

“Are you saying that you  _let_ me win?” Pidge demanded.

Lance held an arm up, silently bidding her to help him to his feet, and once he stood, leaning slightly against her, he said, “Not at all.”

“Then what the  _quiznak_ is wrong with you?” Pidge gripped his arm as he wobbled. “Is it the… _thing_?” She gestured to the back of her own neck.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.” When Pidge narrowed her eyes at him skeptically, he said, “I’m serious, Pidge! My muscles are just a bit sore, and I’m tired, and…” He trailed off, eyes glazing over, but when Pidge snapped her fingers in front of his face, he jumped. “What?”

“You were saying?” Pidge prompted, frowning at him.

“Was I?” Lance put a hand to his head and averted his eyes from her face. “I think I need to lie down.”

Pidge stared at him, palms sweating inside her gloves, but she said, “I’ll help you back to your room.”

“No, I think I can walk on my own.” He took one step away from her before he reached for her again. “Never mind; please do, Pidge.”

Pidge bit her lip and wrapped an arm around his waist while he slung one of his around her neck. She grasped his wrist as he leaned heavily against her, and together they hobbled out of the training deck. Distantly she wondered if it would’ve been a better idea to call Hunk or Allura and get one of them to carry Lance since he could barely move one foot in front of the other, but she preferred to see him to bed herself.

“You’re a good friend, Pidge,” Lance slurred, tilting his head onto hers as they entered the residential hallway.

“Yeah, if you say so,” Pidge agreed, out of breath from supporting his weight.

His bedroom door slid open as they approached, and she gratefully helped him inside before unceremoniously unwinding his arm from around her neck and dropping him onto his bed. He rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and within tics the sound of soft snores greeted her.

Pidge crossed her arms and frowned. Could she take off his armor so he could sleep more comfortably without disturbing him? Should she even leave him alone?

Pidge turned off the light and settled down in the corner, readying herself for a ‘night’ spent worrying and struggling to distract herself.

* * *

 

Pidge’s neck ached as she shifted, still half-asleep and slow of thought as she tried to rub the soreness away. The room – Lance’s bedroom, she recalled – was only illuminated by the screen propped up against the wall, the pause menu of the game she’d fallen asleep playing still displayed.

Pidge sighed, uncertain what woke her, but she set the controller in her lap aside and crawled over to Lance’s bed to check on him, eyes widening when she found it empty.

“Quiznak,” she hissed, as alert as if she’d slept soundly in her own bed. She jumped to her feet and ran for the door, scanning the hallway once outside. “Where did you  _go_?” Her heart pounded with an unpleasant foreboding, and a chill ran down her spine as she chose a direction at random and traveled down the dark hall.

The cuff of her armor – which she fell asleep wearing – blinked with a waiting message, and she raised it to her face, the blue projection lighting up her immediate surroundings. Hunk’s face greeted her, his eyes wide with alarm, and he asked, “Pidge, where are you?”

“I’m on my way to the bridge now,” she said, pausing. “What happened? Have you seen Lance?”

“Uh, yes, yes I have,” Hunk muttered darkly.

“Where are you?” Pidge demanded before he could elaborate.

“Med bay,” he said. “But, Pidge—”

Pidge cut off the display and changed direction, heading for the new destination. But the sight of three occupied healing pods brought her up short, her body freezing almost without her volition.

“Pidge!” Hunk said, stalking towards her from where he stood somewhere between the occupied pods. He still wore his pajamas, but he held his bayard. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you too?”

Pidge scanned the room and noted Coran standing in front of one pod agitatedly tapping his foot, all four mice clustered around him. One healing pod held Lance, and as she examined him, she spotted burns on his arms and a long – but not deep – cut on his abdomen.

“What the quiznak happened?” Pidge asked, pressing a hand against Lance’s pod.

“He, uh…” Hunk scratched his cheek and sighed. “I’m not too sure, actually; I was asleep when he, well…” He stood beside Pidge and gestured towards Lance and the other two occupied pods.

Allura and Shiro, Pidge saw, which let her guess the source of Lance’s burns. She bit her lip, her limbs trembling, and quietly said, “Why didn’t he hurt me?”

“What?” Hunk said, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Why didn’t he hurt  _me_?” She turned to Hunk. “I helped him to bed earlier and fell asleep in his room, but he left without hurting – or even waking – me.” She rubbed her face, surprised to find tears there. “What did he  _do_?”

“ _Why_ did he do it?” Coran asked instead, glancing at Pidge with narrowed eyes. He looked as angry as she’d ever seen him, arms crossed and posture stiff, as if he held himself back from violence.

“I…” Pidge scowled. “The Druid.”

“What do you know, Pidge?” Hunk wondered.

“The Druid did something to him.” She pointed to the back of her neck. “He didn’t say anything because it didn’t look noteworthy, but it was hurting him, and he passed out earlier, and now…” She blinked frustrated tears out of her eyes. “Maybe this could’ve been avoided if he’d gone into a pod like I suggested.” She crossed her arms, mirroring Coran’s position.

“Perhaps,” Coran conceded, now looking thoughtful as well as angry. He approached Lance’s pod and scanned through the diagnostics it output. “The pod  _has_ detected something unusual in his system. It’s as if he’s been—”

“Hacked,” Pidge supplied.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Coran said with a nod. “Although…” He glanced at her. “Why  _didn’t_ he hurt you, Number Five?”

Pidge shrugged and inquired, “Is that all he did? Attack Shiro and Allura?”

Coran and Hunk exchanged a glance, and Coran admitted, “I’m not certain, and we won’t know for sure until they wake up and speak for themselves, but it seems that they only interfered in Lance’s attempt to sabotage the Castle.”

Pidge smiled sardonically. “He’s a virus.”

Hunk snorted. “Strange of you to see humor in the situation, Pidge,” he observed.

“The idiot’s rubbed off on me,” she said. “He probably didn’t attack me because I didn’t interfere.” Her heart sunk, heavy with disappointment, though she couldn’t explain why.

“Well,” Hunk said with a heavy sigh, “there’s only one way to find out for sure.”

The three of them – and the mice – waited in the med bay. First to emerge from a healing pod, within the first varga, was Allura, who gasped in surprise as Coran caught her, staring around with eyes full of confusion until she gathered her wits enough to stand on her own power. She then glanced at Lance and frowned.

Coran and Hunk brought her up to speed, and Allura filled them in on what happened.

“Shiro and I were in the bridge,” she said, clutching a mug of steaming nunvil that Coran had brought her. “We were charting our course, but before I could alter the Castle’s direction, Lance walked in. He wasn’t…smiling, and perhaps that was the first sign that he wasn’t in his right mind.” She frowned and rubbed at her tired eyes. “Lance politely asked I head for a sector of space I  _know_ to be heavily occupied, and when I refused and told him to return to bed, that he wasn’t acting like himself, he held his bayard to my head.” She looked up at Shiro’s pod, lost in thought.

Pidge prompted, “What happened next?”

Allura shook her head, as if to clear it, and continued, “I tried to talk him down, but when he refused – tried to change the Castle’s course himself – Shiro grabbed him. Unfortunately, Lance in his state had no qualms about hurting  _us_  and…well, Shiro and I together managed to subdue him – though not before we all sustained injuries.” She flexed her arm, tapping a point halfway between wrist and elbow.

“Is the…whatever it is still in Lance’s body?” Hunk asked Coran.

Coran checked the readings on his healing pod and frowned. “I’m afraid the levels haven’t gone down at all,” he admitted. “And his other injuries will be healed by the end of the varga.” He looked at Allura, waiting for some kind of cue.

“He won’t stop until whatever’s affecting him escapes his system,” Allura guessed, “and we don’t know how long that’ll take if the healing pod isn’t helping.”

“He needs a reboot,” Pidge realized.

“And how are we going to give him that?” Hunk asked. “We can’t just turn him off and then on again.”

Pidge couldn’t help a snicker at the mental image of a switch on the back of Lance’s neck, right where the open sore was. But she wondered, “Is there any way we can administer an antidote?”

Coran frowned. “Perhaps, though we’d have to keep him sedated while we engineered one.”

Pidge joined him in front of Lance’s healing pod. “Let him out,” she said.

“What?”

Pidge rested her hand on the pod’s glass. “I’ll…talk to him,” she said. “Maybe  _he_ can fight it.”

“Are you sure that’ll work, Pidge?” Allura wondered.

“Yeah, what if he just shoves you aside and runs for the bridge again?” Hunk said.

Pidge tapped her foot and admitted, “It’s risky, but we don’t have time for anything else.” She pointed to the timer on the healing pod’s display and glanced at Coran. “Prepare a sedative in case this doesn’t work.”

Coran met her eyes, toying with his mustache, then nodded slowly. “We’ll do it your way, Number Five,” he said. “Number Two, come with me; I’ll need your help. Princess?”

“I’ll stay with Pidge,” Allura said. “She’ll need me just in case Lance doesn’t respond to her idea.” She and Coran exchanged a long look, Allura standing firm with her jaw set, and Coran frowning with concern before he sighed, shaking his head, and leading Hunk out of the med bay.

Pidge asked her, “Are you sure you’ll be okay? You just came out of a pod too.”

“I’m fine,” Allura said. “Alteans are a  _little_ sturdier than your race.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “If you say so, Princess.”

The healing pod opened with a hiss, vapor spilling out and obscuring its occupant from view. But Lance stumbled out, eyes unfocused until they snapped onto Pidge and Allura.

His gaze sharpened, and he snarled, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t at his belt.

Pidge approached him, cautiously, holding her hands up and glad that her bayard was at her waist. She was distantly aware of Allura standing in a defensive pose, ready to jump in should she need her, but she focused all her attention on Lance.

“Lance,” she said, heart pounding with a renewed fervor, “you didn’t wake me up when you left.”

“Why would I?” Lance said. “You weren’t in my way.”

Pidge bit her lip, seeking something else to say, some way to respond. “Where did you go anyway?”

“The bridge,” he said. “There was something I needed to do there.” His gaze slipped past her, past Allura, and towards the med bay door, and as he moved towards it, he said, “Something I  _still_ need to do.”

“No, you don’t,” Pidge said, grabbing his arm. “What are you trying to accomplish?”

“What the Druid told me to do,” Lance said as he glanced her way. His voice was oddly blank, detached, and apart from the uncharacteristic glare, he seemed utterly disinterested in whatever task the  _Druid_ set him up for.

“Then I’ll…come with you,” Pidge said, emboldened when he didn’t try to shake her off. She glanced over her shoulder at Allura and shook her head very slightly.

Allura rolled her eyes, but as Lance left the med bay for the bridge, she followed at a distance.

“Tell me about your plan,” Pidge said. “Maybe I can…maybe I can help you.”

“ _Help_ me?” Lance demanded. “You’re trying to  _stop_  me.”

Pidge swallowed, heart thumping almost painfully. “Then why haven’t you tried to hurt me yet?” she wondered. “You fought Allura and Shiro; y-you admire Shiro, and you have a crush on-on Allura.”

Lance paused, and for one heart-stopping moment Pidge dared to hope she’d gotten through to him – to the  _real_ Lance underneath this cold one. But then he shook his head and plowed on. “Get off me, Pidge,” he said.

“No.”

“Pidge, please get off me.”

“You’re being awfully polite for a mind-controlled zombie,” she retorted. She tightened her grip on his arm, pulling him up short in front of the bridge entrance.

Lance met her eyes, but then he grabbed her hand in a vice grip, fingernails digging into her palm. She bit her lip to keep herself from wincing when he pushed her away.

“I have an objective,” he said, “and you’re not part of it.”

Pidge tackled him as he turned away from her, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and causing him to stumble forwards with the impact. “I’m interfering  _now_ ,” she hissed into his ear, ignoring the alarmed voice in her head telling her she needed to step back and reevaluate, perhaps let Allura take over while they waited for Coran and the sedative.

Lance backed up until he pressed her to the wall, but despite a spike of pain in her shoulder at the impact, she refused to let go. “Let go, Pidge,” he said.

“You’ll have to kill me first,” she grumbled.

“Pidge!” Allura, apparently unwilling to hold back anymore, rushed towards them. “Lance, let her go.”

“I’m her hostage more than she’s mine!” he said.

Pidge then decided to change tactic; she let go of Lance and, as he relaxed in surprise, she pushed him away from her. She held her arm out towards Allura and approached him again. “What now?”

Lance didn’t hesitate to run for the bridge.

 _“Quiznak,”_ she said, glaring as the bridge’s doors slid open to admit him. “Why didn’t you lock those?” she asked Allura.

“You wanted him there!” she retorted.

“Should’ve specified,” she admitted before rushing in after Lance.

He made his way to Allura’s terminal, frowning as he examined the pedestals, searching for a way he could activate them himself. “Pidge, you’re smart,” he said. “How do I make these work without the princess?”

“You don’t,” she told him.

Lance glanced at her. “Then bring the princess.”

“No.”

He looked past her, a sneer splitting his face. “Looks like the princess brought herself! Princess—”

“Oh, save it, Lance,” Pidge said, crossing her arms. She fixed her gaze on him, and then a new – an  _awful_ – idea occurred to her. “Allura,” she said, “maybe he doesn’t need a reboot.”

“What?” Allura said from beside her.

“Maybe he needs to complete his directive,” she said. “I think you need to take us to where he wants us to go.”

“No,” Allura said. “Absolutely not! It’s wildly dangerous even with all five Lions, and Coran  _can_ find an antidote—”

“But what if he can’t?” Pidge said, turning to face her. “Or…take us somewhere  _else_ , fool him into thinking you’ve gone through with it, and then I’ll reboot him.”

“ _How?_ ” Allura stressed, gesturing towards Lance. “He’s completely out of his mind, even if he  _looks_ calm!”

“I know,” Pidge admitted. She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Just…we need to shock him in some way, I think.”

“You  _think_?”

“Yes, I just need to—”

The door slid open, interrupting her, and Coran launched himself into the air at Lance, a blaster in his hands. And before Pidge could react, he shot at Lance, who dodged…but backed right into Hunk.

Hunk held the sedative.

“Wait!” Pidge said. She sprinted forwards as Lance and Hunk wrestled for the syringe and did the first thing that came to mind.

She grabbed Lance by the collar of his pod suit and kissed him.

The whole room froze in time, but heat filled Pidge despite her shock. Lance stiffened, at first, and for a tic she thought he would push her aside and continue his – the Druid’s – objective, but then he kissed her back, his lips warm and soft and willing.

“What the quiznak?” Coran said.

Pidge pulled back and rested a hand on Lance’s cheek. “What do you want to do now?” she asked him softly.

Lance’s face was red, but he still raised an eyebrow at her – an expression so characteristically  _Lance_ that she smiled – and said, “Kiss you again.”

“Huh,” Pidge said as her cheeks warmed and relief filled her. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I can’t believe it took some weird Druid mind control to get you to do that,” Hunk grumbled from behind Lance.

Lance rolled his eyes and said, “Space does things to you, buddy.”

“Well, if that’s all,” Allura said, “I think I’m going to bed.”

“Excellent idea,” Coran said.

“Right behind you!” Hunk input, though he, at least, tossed a sly glance over his shoulder at them before he left.

Pidge rolled her eyes as she met Lance’s, then noticed her hands were still fisted in his collar. She loosened her hold and wrapped her arms around his neck instead, and as he leaned towards her, she said, “Next time you’re in pain, tell someone before I add to it.”

Lance smirked. “As you wish, Pidge,” he said, right before kissing her again.


	55. Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Prove it."
> 
> Vaguely medieval AU, angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170336025108/qwq-your-plance-fics-give-me-life-if-youre-still)

Lance leaned against the doorframe of Pidge’s tiny bedroom in the castle’s servants’ quarters, pretending like he belonged there despite the clothes he wore, too fine for anyone that lived down here to do much more with than wash.

Pidge stared at him from beside her small cot, eyes wide and hands hanging loosely at her sides. “You want  _what_?” she demanded; but there was a flush high in her cheeks, suggesting she knew  _exactly_ what Lance asked her.

“I want to…uh…” Lance scratched the back of his neck, smiling as his own face warmed. He pushed himself off the doorframe and approached her. “C-can I court you?”

Pidge gaped at him. “I-what?  _No_!”

Lance frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I—and  _you_ —and  _me_ —” She cut herself off, pressing a hand to her face and hissing; Lance might’ve been amused by her exasperation if his heart wasn’t pounding, if his very happiness didn’t hinge on Pidge’s answer. “You can’t just-just come to my room and throw this at my feet, Lance!”

Lance took her hand, smiling when she didn’t pull it from his grip. “Pidge,” he tried again, “can I court you?”

Pidge stared at their joined hands, nibbling her lip in a way that warmed Lance to his very core, but he kept his head clear, waiting, waiting, waiting…

She shook her head and said, “No.”

Lance blinked at her, confused, while his heart sank in disappointment. “Why not?”

Pidge finally wrenched her hand from his grip. “Do I  _need_ to give you a reason?”

“I…guess not,” he admitted, “but—”

“Fine,” she said, shrugging as she stuffed her hands into her pockets, eyes on the floor. “I’ll give you several, because I like you.”

“Then—”

“Lance,” she interrupted, her eyes pinched shut, “I  _can’t_ , all right? You’re engaged to someone else, for one—”

“I can break it off,” Lance told her.

“ _And_ I’m just a maid.” She crossed her arms, shoulders hunched over and frowning miserably. “And you’re the son of a duchess; we should never have met anyway.”

Lance clenched his hands into fists, resisting the urge to take her in his arms and comfort her – she wouldn’t thank him if he tried. “You’re  _not_ just a maid,” he pointed out. “Your father was—”

“Disgraced,” she said, finally glancing up at him with a bitter scowl. “I don’t have my old status, and you know it.”

“So?” Lance insisted. “Why does any of that matter?”

Pidge sighed. “I know you’re a romantic at heart, Lance,” she said, her hands fisting in her skirt, “but that’s not how the world works.”

“But—”

Pidge’s eyes flitted up to his before drifting away again. “Can you promise me that we won’t simply sneak around? Will you be ashamed to take me to parties, or announce that  _we’re_ engaged, or—”

“No, of course not!”

She smiled at him, though it was hardly warm. “I don’t believe you, Lance,” she admitted. “You care too much about what other people think.”

Lance opened his mouth to contradict her, but as he absorbed her words, he realized that she was right.

Pidge took his hesitation for defeat, because she said, “If you  _could_ agree to that – that you  _don’t_ care – then I’m all yours.”

“What if I did?” Lance wondered, hope reigniting within him.

Pidge appraised him, winding a few strands of hair around a finger as she thought. She narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Then prove it.”

“How do I do that?”

“That’s up to you,” Pidge said, “but when you  _can_ prove that you want to  _publicly_ court me, then I’ll think about it again.”

Lance exhaled, half-relieved and half-dreading the next step.

He’d be lucky if the king didn’t have him executed.

* * *

 

They met entirely by accident, when Lance and his family visited the capital for his engagement to Princess Allura:

He’d had a meeting alone with the king – an imposing, if friendly man – and was on his way out of his study when he ran headlong into someone over a head shorter than him.

“Ow!” a maid cried out as she landed on her backside, an armful of papers scattering around them. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

“Why don’t you?” Lance retorted, rubbing his own backside where it made impact on the hard ground. He got to his feet but leaned back down, helping the maid gather her papers back into a folio…but not before he chanced a glance at one. “Are these… _financial_ reports?”

The maid’s eyes widened, but she was quick to snatch the last of the pages from his hands. “They’re not mine, obviously,” she said. “I was taking them to…Captain Shirogane. They’re expenditure reports for the king’s guard.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her, her nervous demeanor – the way she wiped her hands on the fabric of her skirt, how she looked everywhere but at him – arousing his suspicion. “Right,” he said. He held a hand down to her, noting how sweaty her hand was when she accepted the help and he pulled her to her feet.

He didn’t let go immediately, and she frowned up at him. “Uh…” And then she seemed to  _really_ look at him, her jaw dropping. “You’re engaged to the princess.”

Lance smirked and let go of her hand, sweeping an elegant bow – though she was a servant and he a nobleman, albeit a young one – and saying, “You can call me Lance. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

The maid didn’t curtsy, like he half-expected, and instead only clutched her folio to her chest. “Oh,” she said.

Lance straightened and rested his hands on his hips. “This is usually the part where you introduce yourself.”

She rolled her eyes – what kind of servant  _was_ she? – and said, “My name is Pidge.”

“Interesting name,” Lance said.

She nodded and said, “It’s a nickname.”

“Then what’s your real name?” Lance wondered with a smile.

Pidge snorted. “Like I’m going to tell you that when we’ve only just met,  _my lord_.” She stepped around him and proceeded on her way – in the exact  _opposite_ direction of the king’s guard’s barracks.

Lance watched her go and wondered what kind of servant could stay employed at the king’s own castle with an attitude like that.

* * *

 

Lance paced his bedroom, puzzling over Pidge’s challenge and over what seemed the more imposing task:  breaking off his engagement to Princess Allura.

He sat on his desk – unused and clear of any detritus – and buried his face in his hands. This time last year, he’d been utterly besotted with Princess Allura, or at least with the idea of her, and though he was still fond of her, his feelings weren’t  _nearly_ as strong as they once were.

No, around the time he ought to have been falling in love with Princess Allura, he kept seeing more and more of Pidge.

Lance sighed and stood, stalking for the door. It swung shut behind him as he made his way to the library, where he found Hunk scribbling notes in a book.

“Hunk,” he said, slipping into the chair beside him.

“Lance,” Hunk said without looking up.

“I did it,” he said. “I asked to court Pidge.”

Hunk’s hand froze around his quill as he glanced at Lance, but his smile faltered as soon as it spread across his face when he took in Lance’s expression. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry, Lance. I could’ve sworn she’d agree.”

Lance gripped the edge of the table. “Me too,” he agreed, “but there  _is_ hope.” He smiled, trying for cheerful. “She wants me to prove that I really want to court her.”

“Asking isn’t enough?”

He shook his head and admitted, “She thinks I care too much about what other people think.”

“She’s right,” Hunk admitted mercilessly.

Lance scowled. “Thank you for your sympathy.”

“Look,” Hunk said, “you’ve had feelings for her for months now! Just do what you should’ve done before and end your engagement.”

Lance dropped his forehead on the table, nearly knocking over Hunk’s pot of ink with the impact. “Easier said than done,” he grumbled. “The king and my mother will kill me.”

Hunk nudged the ink pot aside, rescuing it from Lance. “That’s the price you have to pay for love sometimes,” he said.

Lance nodded in reluctant agreement. “I know you’re right, but then what? That just shows her I don’t want to marry the princess, not that I’m willing to mar-court someone of her class.”

“Does it make a difference that she was once of the same class as you?” Hunk asked.

Lance rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped on the table. “Not to her,” he said.

Hunk hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve got nothing,” he said, “although…”

When he trailed off, Lance prompted, “What?”

“Maybe some kind of public confession?” Hunk suggested with a shrug. “She may not thank you for that, though.”

“No, no.” Lance held a hand up and grinned as an idea took hold. “I think you’re right; I just have to make sure she’s working the night of the princess’s birthday party.” He frowned then and wondered, “Should I do this or break my engagement off first?”

Hunk snorted and said, “Break the engagement off first.”

“No, I don’t think I will,” he said. “It’ll be more dramatic if I don’t.”

“She might think you only want an affair though,” Hunk pointed out reasonably.

“Then I’ll end my engagement immediately after!” Lance laughed and rubbed his face. “Hunk, you’re a genius!”

“Thank you, I try.” He sounded pleased, but he still frowned worriedly. “Make sure you’re sober when you do it too.”

“Of course,” Lance agreed with a nod. “I need everyone to know I’m in my right mind, and that I love Pidge.”

Hunk glanced sideways at him. “Hmm, do you?”

Lance smiled, something pleasantly warm sitting in his belly at the thought of Pidge. “I do,” he said. “I definitely do.”

* * *

 

Pidge proved herself to be more than just an ordinary maid when he found her breaking into Commander Iverson’s office entirely by accident.

“Uh…Pidge?” Lance said from the doorway, where he’d paused on his way to Captain Shirogane’s office just down the hall.

Pidge froze where she was bent over a cabinet, rifling through papers with a concentrated fury on her face. She slowly straightened and turned towards him. “My lord,” she said stiffly, flattening invisible wrinkles on her skirt.

“Just cleaning?” Lance asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She cleared her throat and nodded.

“Right,” he said. He crossed his arms and wondered, “So what, exactly, were you cleaning?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Well, it’s either you tell me, or I tell Commander Iverson.” He swallowed, his heart sinking as he threatened her; for some reason, he desperately wanted her to  _trust_ him, just as he knew this was an awful way to become her confidante.

“How do I know you won’t tell him if I  _do_ tell you?” Pidge demanded, crossing her arms.

Lance shrugged and said, “I guess I like you? And I’d like for us to be friends.” He shuffled his feet, smiling hopefully at her.

“Friends don’t blackmail each other,” Pidge pointed out.

Lance rolled his eyes. “Maybe not,” he said, “but they do…take walks together?” He nodded back towards the hallway. “Perhaps help each other out?”

Pidge appraised him for a moment, then sighed and approached him after shoving the cabinet door closed. He held his breath as she walked past him, her arm brushing against his as she did, and paused in the hallway, an expectant look on her face.

Lance followed and prompted, “So…?”

“Commander Iverson is responsible for my father’s downfall,” Pidge began without preamble.

Lance’s eyes widened, surprised by her frankness. “Your father?”

Pidge bit her lip and said, “Earl Sam Holt.”

Lance halted, his heart pounding with the revelation as he gaped at her, and when she stopped just a step beyond him, glancing back at him with a question in her eyes, he said, “Your father is an  _earl_?”

“He  _was_ an earl,” Pidge said, crossing her arms. “And your mother is a duchess. So what?”

“ _So_ why the hell are you a maid?” Lance demanded while he flailed his arms, begging for a reasonable explanation. “You’re the daughter of an  _earl_!”

“ _Was_ ,” Pidge insisted.

“Please explain, Pidge,” Lance said. He rubbed his face, confused. “No one loses a title for nothing.”

Pidge bit her lip, glancing around the hall lined with military offices, and said, “Not here. Somewhere more private.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her as his heart skipped a beat. “Where did you have in mind?”

Pidge grabbed his wrist and towed him away, and though she didn’t seem to care if anyone saw them, Lance’s face warmed at the thought of anyone – from a random guard to Princess Allura to the king himself – glancing out of a castle window towards them.

Pidge towed him in the direction of the servants’ quarters, mostly empty at this time of day, beneath the castle’s main body. Down another hall lined with windows that stood too close together, and finally through a door at the end. She gestured for Lance to sit on the low cot – the only furniture in the room – and closed the door before spinning around to face him.

She paced the tiny space and said, “My father died a little over a year ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said lamely.

Pidge ignored that and continued, “He was rather…eccentric, and that was all right, but his eccentricities cost us more wealth than we earned from my family’s lands.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall across from Lance, which wasn’t very far thanks to the tiny dimensions of the room. “He loaned money to almost anyone who asked, simply because they had an idea that intrigued him. He…bought a few ships as an investment, but two were lost in storms and another fell to pirates.” She sighed heavily before sitting beside Lance on the cot, though with enough distance between them that they wouldn’t touch by accident.

Lance frowned, taking note of her diction; she even  _spoke_ like a noblewoman now that he heard her properly, and an educated one at that. “That’s awful,” he said during a long pause, “but that doesn’t explain how he lost the title.”

Pidge explained, her voice shaking, “He started taking loans out himself when our lands weren’t profitable enough to make up for the losses. And then he died suddenly in an accident, and—” She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with one hand.

Lance hesitantly reached for her other hand, warm and soft – too soft for a lifelong servant, it now obviously seemed – to the touch. “And?” he prompted as gently as he could.

“Well, that’s when we found out how deep the hole he’d dug was,” she said, lowering her hand and glancing up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“What does that have to do with Commander Iverson?” Lance wondered.

“Iverson was my father’s partner in a lot of his ventures,” she said. “They loaned each other funds sometimes, but when my father died, most of the burden fell on  _him_ rather than on Iverson.” She sneered and said, “So my family suffered while Iverson escaped.”

“That’s…” Words failed Lance, for once; he’d never had much of a head for business, which was probably why his mother preferred to set him up as the future prince consort, but even he could understand that the fate Pidge’s family suffered was unjust. “What happened after your father died?”

“My brother and I sold what land we could get away with,” Pidge said, her tone oddly detached now, “but we couldn’t hide how much money we owed, so the king stripped us of our titles and the rest. B-because he’d considered my father a friend, he made sure my mother and her health were looked after. He gave my brother a position in his guard and employed me as a maid with the promise that I can be his future grandchildren’s tutor.” She smiled sardonically at him. “ _Your_ future children’s tutor.”

Lance blinked at her in surprise, the idea sitting unpleasantly in his belly. “That’s a strange thought,” he admitted, squeezing her hand.

Pidge chuckled. “Isn’t it?” Then she shrugged and said, “I’m not…unhappy, I think, and neither is my brother.” She gripped her skirt tightly with her free hand. “I just…I want to expose Iverson. I don’t care if it gets my family anything of what we lost back – I know my father made mistakes. I just want some kind of…justice.”

Lance touched her shoulder with his other hand, and when she turned her head to look at him – when did they get so  _close_? – he smiled and asked, “How can I help?”

Pidge blinked at him. “Don’t blackmail me ever again,” she said with a scowl.

“Done,” Lance agreed easily. “What else?”

Pidge’s eyes flicked up to his before drifting back down, and Lance was suddenly all too aware of their proximity, of the pounding of his heart, of the dampness of her hand in his, but before he could do anything else – he wasn’t sure if he wanted to lean forward or lean away – a sharp knock came from the door, startling them into springing apart.

Pidge stood up and went to open the door. “Keith,” she said, a little breathlessly. “Do you need anything?”

“I just saw you leaving the barracks in a hurry,” Keith said, his voice drifting inside. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine now,” Pidge reassured him. “Thanks for checking on me.”

“Oh, you’re wel—”

Pidge shut the door in his face, leaning against it and facing Lance, who couldn’t help snickering. She rolled her eyes and said, “I’m glad you’re so amused.”

Lance extended his arms over his head and groaned. “I can’t say I like Keith much.”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “I’d noticed,” she said.

“Anyway…” Lance stood and approached her, smiling, but whatever  _thing_ occurred between them before Keith interrupted had passed.

He wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or not.

“Please just tell me if you need anything, Pidge.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you offering to help me only because my father was an earl?” she wondered, tone suspicious.

“What?” Lance said. “No, of course not!”

“Really,” Pidge said skeptically.

“Yes,  _really_ ,” Lance insisted. He tapped his foot and said, “I’d still offer my help if you were born a beggar and were wronged.”

Pidge appraised him for a long moment while Lance held his breath, waiting for… _something_ , but then she nodded, as if accepting his reasoning, and stepped aside to open the door for him. “Thank you, Lance,” she said. “It…it does mean a lot to me.”

Lance saluted her as he left, wondering if there  _was_ something he could do about Iverson.

* * *

 

Pidge avoided Lance after her rejection, their eyes only meeting by accident whenever they happened to pass each other in the halls. She was quick to glance away afterwards, fingers clenching the fabric of her skirt the only sign of any agitation, and Lance would always stand still for too long, watching her walk away from him.

But soon, he hoped, she’d never turn her back on him again, not when the morning of Princess Allura’s birthday party dawned.

Lance sat up in bed, and as he remembered what day it was, his heart pounded in anticipation. He grinned as he dressed, practically skipping into the dining room for breakfast but dodging his family’s questions when they wondered why he was so cheerful all of a sudden, especially when he’d struggled to keep up a bright face the last few mornings.

But as the day wore on – as he dressed in his finest for the party – he grew nervous, his stomach churning sickeningly. And when he escorted Princess Allura, to whom he was still engaged, into the ballroom, it only grew worse.

“Are you all right, Lance?” the princess asked him. “You’re looking a little…nauseous.”

“Never better,” Lance said. He smiled at her, though it felt more like a grimace.

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him as they fell into a dance to start the evening, but she didn’t question him as he led her through the steps. “Well,” she said, “you’re as light on your feet as ever.”

“Thank you, Princess,” Lance said, basking in her praise…at least until he spotted Pidge at the edge of the ballroom, helping another servant pour sparkling wine into goblets.

When the first song ended, Lance excused himself, and despite the princess’s concerned frown, she didn’t protest his leaving her. He inhaled bracingly as he approached Pidge, whose back was to him.

He tapped her shoulder, and when she turned to him with wide eyes, he smiled and asked, “May I have this dance?” He held a hand out to her.

“Lance…” she said, glancing past him towards where the other guests spun around in elegant circles.

“If you’re worried about your clothes,” he said, eyeing her uniform, “you shouldn’t be. You look beautiful in what you’re wearing.”

To his delight, Pidge flushed, but that didn’t stop her from retorting, “You’ll look bad if you dance with a maid.”

Lance ignored the pounding in his heart and said, “I don’t care about that.”

Pidge bit her lip, but when she nodded and rested her warm hand on his, Lance grinned, his stomach fluttering with something  _other_ than anxiety. He led her onto the dance floor and rested his other hand on her waist while she put hers on his shoulder. They stood the appropriate distance from each other, but Lance had to resist the urge to tug her a little closer as they moved to the music.

Pidge danced well – of course she would, since she must’ve learned at a young age thanks to her upbringing – but still avoided his eyes. “Is this how you’re… _proving_ it to me?” she asked.

Lance focused all his attention on her, ignoring the other party guests, ignoring the first hint of whispering and gossip that just barely rose over the music. “Partly,” he said. He raised his arm, and she spun, a hint of a smile crossing her face as she returned. “How am I doing so far?”

Pidge hummed. “Better than I dared hope,” she confessed.

Lance frowned at her. “Really?”

She shrugged and said, “I…didn’t believe that you felt very strongly for me, Lance.”

“Pidge…”

“What?” She met his eyes. “You never gave me a reason to; we simply kissed once, and then you asked me if you could court me. Did you even tell anyone?”

“Hunk knows,” Lance said, frowning.

“Hunk doesn’t count,” Pidge said.

“That’s…fair.” Lance sighed. “Pidge, I—”

An unwelcome tap on the shoulder interrupted him, and he scowled at the newcomer…though forced his face to relax when he saw it was the king himself. He pretended not to be disappointed when Pidge slipped out of his arms, but he bowed and said, “Your Majesty.”

“Lance,” said the king, “I have the document you asked for, though why you wanted me to deliver it in the middle of my daughter’s birthday party is still a mystery.”

Lance straightened and accepted the offered scroll, ignoring the question implied on the king’s face. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said with a smile. He turned to Pidge as the king left and said, “This is for you.”

Pidge took the scroll and unrolled it, scanning the document. Lance watched for her reaction eagerly, her eyes growing wider the further down she read before she gasped and flung her arms around him. “Thank you, Lance!” she said, burying her face in his shoulder. “ _Thank you._ ”

Lance wrapped his arms around her and smiled. “It’s nothing more than you deserve, Pidge,” he told her.

“I know, but—” She pulled back but didn’t withdraw her arms from around his neck. “Lance, with these reparations I can—well, my family doesn’t get the old lands back, but I can afford to attend the university!”

“I know,” Lance said.

“This is  _way_ more than I thought you’d do,” Pidge admitted, “or even  _could_. I thought if you  _did_ attempt something, it would be more…straightforward.”

They resumed dancing, and Lance quirked an eyebrow at her. “Then what  _did_ you think I’d do?”

Pidge smiled up at him, something almost  _mischievous_ in her gaze, and as the song wound down, all the other dancers applauding the musicians, she said, “Wouldn’t  _you_ like to know?” She stepped away from him then. “I…have one more condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You need to break off your engagement,” she said. “I’m not going to have an affair with you, Lance.”

He crossed his arms and said, “I know, and I will.”

“Good,” she said, “but now I have to get back to work.”

Lance watched her go, watched her take up a tray of drinks and wander around the ballroom offering them to guests. He turned towards the front of the room, where he spotted Princess Allura deep in conversation with Captain Shirogane.

He walked over to them, and when the princess glanced his way, he said, “Princess, can we talk?”

She nodded, and Captain Shirogane withdrew, leaving the two of them as alone as they could be in a crowded ballroom. “What is it?” she asked.

Lance didn’t bother mincing words as he said, “I can’t marry you.”

Princess Allura frowned but said, “All right.”

He blinked at her, stunned. “ _All right_?”

“Yes, I suppose it was obvious to everyone in the ballroom just now that you’re more smitten with a maid than with your betrothed.” She smiled at him, showing him that she didn’t mind. “And there  _was_ that favor you asked of my father this week…a very  _specific_ favor.”

Lance still swallowed guiltily and said, “I’m sorry, Princess.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder. “You needn’t be, Lance,” she said. “I will support you in this – and Pidge as well. Don’t worry about my father’s reaction.”

Lance chuckled and admitted, “I’m more worried about my mother’s now.”

The princess furrowed her brow then and said, “I’m afraid I can’t help you with that.”

Lance nodded in agreement as the princess left him to find Captain Shirogane again, and he glanced around for someone else – Hunk was probably in the kitchens, trying to squirrel away food while it was still fresh – to talk to…but now that  _that_ was done, he only wanted to see Pidge.

She walked back to the edge of the ballroom, an empty tray tucked under her arm, as a sudden idea captivated Lance.

He strode towards her, footsteps rapid but not rushed, and she turned at the sound of them, smiling. “Lance,” she said, “I’m still work—”

Lance kissed Pidge, in front of everyone. Distantly he heard her tray clatter to the floor, but her lips were soft and distracting against his as she kissed him back, her arms winding around his neck while his circled her waist and pulled her closer.

They parted breathlessly, the entire ballroom falling silent, but Lance only grinned at Pidge and rested his forehead on hers. “I love you,” he said, reaching up to touch her cheek. “Can I court you?”

Pidge rolled her eyes, turning her head slightly to kiss the palm of his hand. “Forget courtship,” she said. “When can we get married?”

Lance laughed, his face warming even more, and said, “Anytime, just as soon as I explain to my mother that I’m marrying a maid instead of a princess.”


	56. Donor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Sit still, for the love of all that is holy."
> 
> Modern AU, dubiously fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170369609458/i-could-never-get-tired-of-your-work-the-last)

_One…two…three…four…_

Pidge listened to the dripping of the bathroom faucet, counting each drop as it fell. She lay on her back, staring up at a ceiling only slightly illuminated by streetlights penetrating the thin curtain across the window. But after a few minutes of this, Pidge lost count and scowled.

The painkillers the nurse administered to her numbed her back so that all she felt was a padding – the bandages – between her skin and the thin bedsheet. And between that minor discomfort and the anxiety of Matt’s impending surgery, even her grogginess after her own didn’t force her eyes closed.

Pidge tapped her fingers against the ugly yellow bedspread, muttering a half-remembered prayer she learned when her mother still forced her to go to church. And despite the surgeon warning her about post-surgery ‘complications’, it wasn’t for herself that she prayed.

Her ward was quiet after visitors’ hours, the lights in the hallway beyond her room dimmed, though not enough that shadows didn’t shift under the door, followed by the sound of footsteps belonging to nurses and doctors on the night shift, the squeaking of rubber soles on linoleum tiles and the spinning of axles on the odd wheelchair.

Pidge exhaled, reaching to scratch an itch under the surgical tape attaching gauze to her back. She tried counting water drops again, bored and worried and uncomfortable. She turned on her side, back to the door, and closed her eyes, but her pitiful attempt at sleeping was interrupted a mere five drops later when the door swung open on squeaky hinges.

“Who is it?” she hissed. She wasn’t expecting anyone – not her parents, not the surgeon – until morning. She turned back around, eyes widening and heartbeat spiking when she spotted the tall silhouette in the corner between the bathroom and the door.

“Uh…” said the silhouette. All she could see of their profile was a long, thin nose and jawline, but their voice was masculine when they said, “I swear I thought this room was empty.”

Pidge struggled to sit up, wincing when the bandaging on her back tugged unpleasantly at her skin. “What gave you that idea?” she wondered.

They shifted back towards the door, light pouring in through the window illuminating their features a bit more. A man close to her age, Pidge saw.

“The light’s turned off,” he said.

“Because it’s the middle of the night,” Pidge pointed out.

He frowned and offered lamely, “This was the quietest room I could reach?”

Pidge crossed her arms and said, “Try again.”

The man shrugged and said, “Look, I got lost and now I need to hide.”

“From…?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “You’re not evading the law or something, are you?”

“I’m the wronged party here,” he said. He glanced out the window again, then ducked, crouching against the door.

Pidge, still wary of the intruder, reached for the light switch beside the bed, at least until the man flailed his arms at her and said, “Sit still, for the love of all that is holy!”

Her arm froze as she glared at him. “Why?” she asked. “Is your  _pursuer_ going to barge in here and grab you by the ear?”

“She  _could_ ,” he told her, a finger raised.

“Who? And how did you get lost? There are  _signs_.”

“Well…” He held a hand up and started counting with his fingers, the first one ticking up. “First I was looking at my phone to make sure I knew where my sister’s room is.” He put up his next finger. “Next I guess I was distracted doing that and missed the  _sign_ ”—he rolled his eyes at Pidge—“directing me to the maternity ward.” He put a third finger and scowled. “And then I saw my ex. I forgot that she’s a nurse here.” His voice lowered, and he crossed his arms. “So I ran away and into the first unlocked room that I thought was empty.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that,” Pidge deadpanned.

“ _Thank_ you!” he said with a firm nod. “I’m glad we’ve reached an understanding.”

“I was being sarcastic,” Pidge said. She rubbed her face, exasperated. “I can call a nurse and get you kicked out of here.”

“Please don’t,” he said, his eyes widening. “Just let me stay for a few more minutes.”

Pidge considered him, then sighed, slumping back against her pillow, and said, “Fine.”

“So tell me about yourself,” the man said with a grin. “What’re  _you_ in for?”

She snorted, amused with the phrasing of his question. “Kidney transplant,” she said easily. “It’s for my brother.”

“Oh, that…sucks.” He frowned. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t,” she admitted, fidgeting as she searched for a more comfortable position. “My brother should be in surgery by now.”

“Ah, I see,” he said, nodding in understanding. “Too worried about him to fall asleep?”

Pidge played with a few strands of her hair, winding them around a finger. “Something like that.” Then she eyed the intruder and said, “Why am I telling all this to a stranger?”

He shrugged. “Look, just…” He peeked out the window, furrowing his brow. “Okay, I think my ex is gone.”

“Then you’d better be gone too the next time I blink,” Pidge grumbled.

“Come on, give a guy a bit more time!” He stood up, extending his arms over his head in a luxurious stretch, the hem of his shirt riding up and flashing Pidge a view of a flat stomach. “Anyway…” He winked and pointed a pair of finger guns at her. “See you around, maybe?”

Pidge blinked at him in surprise, face warm. “Probably not,” she said with a shrug. “Congratulations on becoming an uncle?”

“Eh, been there, done that,” he said, waving a dismissive hand, at odds with the wide smile on his face. “Later”—he squinted at the chart attached to the foot of her bed—“Katie.”

Pidge frowned at him and rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help a slight amused smile. “ _Later_ , whoever you are.”

“The name’s Lance,” he said. He rested his hand on the doorknob, then glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hope your recovery goes smoothly.”

“Thanks.”

Lance opened the door, glancing up and down the hallway before he chose a direction and left, the door gently swinging shut behind him.

Pidge stared after him for a moment too long, then laid back down, the encounter providing her with enough mental fodder to take her mind off her worries for Matt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Matts were harmed in the making of this fic


	57. Photo Shoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of prompted by someone anonymous, kind of inspired by a tumblr text post
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170398562718/please-write-the-photo-booth-thing-if-you-get) and inspired by [this post](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170393607868/1love-superwoman-you-guys-imagine-this-your)

Pidge was in the middle of counting GAC to make sure she had enough on her to buy a new game when she lost track, Lance’s hand on her elbow distracting her. “Quiznak,” she said, but before she could start over, he nudged her in the side, more insistent this time. She glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Pidge,” Lance said, staring at some distant point down the mall courtyard, “is that what I think it is?”

Pidge followed his line of sight with her eyes, half-expecting it to be Hunk handing out free samples from Vrepit Sal’s or a hoard of  _The Voltron Show_ fans mobbing Shiro, but her jaw dropped when she spotted a tall, upright box as tall and wide as a phone booth, with a curtain draped over one side.

“That looks just like a photo booth,” Pidge said, stunned. She turned to Lance, startled when their eyes met, but added, “But they’re so  _low-tech_. Why would there be one  _here_?”

“Because they’re  _fun_ , maybe?” Lance waggled his eyebrows at her. “You know, Pidge, just because something is ‘low-tech’, doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. You ever go dirt-biking?”

“Uh,  _no_?”

“Hmm.” Lance tugged her sleeve, as if seeking her attention though he already had it. “Ever used a Polaroid camera then?”

“I…yes,” Pidge admitted sheepishly.

“ _And_ …” Lance leaned down, close enough that he could whisper directly into her ear, and muttered, “I’ve seen your drawings on  _paper_.”

Pidge pushed him away, scowling and hoping her face wasn’t red, but Lance laughed. “All right, fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I see your point now.”

“Great! Does this mean you’ll take a picture with me?”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Lance, we don’t have enough money for that! I only brought enough cash for a game, since Hunk promised he’d get us a free meal.” She waved the bills at him.

Lance frowned at the cash, then reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a single bill. “You mean you don’t carry anything for emergencies?” He  _tsked_. “Risky business, Pidge.”

She snorted and pointed out, “This is hardly an emergency.” But when he grabbed her by the wrist and dragged her towards the photo booth, she went along more than willingly.

Lance pushed the curtain aside and climbed in first, patting the bench and beckoning her inside with a grin. Pidge joined him, unable to help her own smile, though the screen in front of them captured her attention.

All the options were in Galra script.

“I…can’t really read this,” Pidge said.

“Can’t you?” Lance leaned towards it, his shoulder pressed against hers with eyes narrowed at the screen. “What about this?” He touched a random option, and the screen cycled to another menu.

“That looks like a  _three_ ,” Pidge said, pointing to a character just under a symbol that looked like a regular four-photo strip of pictures. “So…three GAC?” She glanced at Lance.

He shrugged and pulled three bills from his pocket, inserting them into a slot underneath the screen…just like in an old-fashioned photo booth on Earth.

“This is eerie,” Pidge said.

“Maybe, but it’s also  _fun_!” Lance tapped the four-photo strip option, and a countdown in Galra script began on the screen.

_10…_

“Wait, we need to decide on a pose!” Lance said, touching a random point on the screen to get it to go back.

_8…_

“I don’t think that’s going to work,” Pidge said. “Just–”

“Glasses!” He waved a hand at her.

_6.._.

“What?” Pidge blinked at him.

“Pidge, gimme your glasses!”

“ _What_?”

_5…_

Lance reached across the narrow space between them and grabbed her glasses right off her face, mumbling an apology when she winced at the hinges getting caught in her hair. He stuck them on his own face, the frames balanced nicely on his nose, and smirked at her.

_3…_

Pidge glared at him and tried to grab them back, but Lance leaned away from her with a laugh.

_2…_

“Lance, if you don’t give those back, I swear to  _quiznak_ I’m going to–”

_1…_

Pidge fell into Lance right as the camera’s light flashed. She blinked, turning back towards it and catching a glimpse of the photo it took.

She snorted, covering her mouth in a pitiful attempt to hide her laughter when she saw the display of her and Lance attempting to wrestle over her glasses.

Lance laughed too and said, “I guess I win?”

“Fine,” Pidge said, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. “You can keep them until we’re done here.”

“Great!” Lance straightened the glasses on his face as the countdown started anew.

_10…_

“You look ridiculous,” Pidge said with a giggle.

_9…_

“Thank you,” Lance said, smirking and raising his eyebrows so high they peeked out over the glasses’ frames. “I  _do_ try my best!”

_8…_

“You owe me after this,” Pidge said, but despite her harsh words, her smile only grew wider. “I should make  _you_ pay for the game.”

_6…_

“But you have more money than I do!” Lance protested, waving his hands at her.

“Not by much!”

_5…_

“Face it, Pidge,” Lance said. He pressed a hand to his chest. “Between the two of us,  _you_ would make more money on Earth. Bring home the bacon, as they say.”

_3…_

“And the star fighter pilot won’t?” Pidge wondered, leaning a little towards him.

_2…_

Lance met her eyes and shrugged. “Not on a government salary,” he said with a teasing glint in his eyes.

_1…_

Another flash, but this time Pidge’s eyes were focused on Lance instead, only glancing sideways to see the photo of the two of them smiling at each other rather than at the camera.

Her face warmed as the countdown restarted.

_10…_

“You know, Pidge,” Lance said, “this is always fun.”

_8…_

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “Was there ever any doubt?”

_7…_

“Nah.” He waved a dismissive hand and threw an arm across her shoulders; she thought he was blushing, but she couldn’t be sure in the dimness of the photo booth. “I just wanted you to know.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but said, “I have fun too.”

_5…_

“Well, I don’t think I’d have as much fun if I wasn’t with you,” she admitted before she could stop herself, though her eyes widened when her words registered in her brain. “I mean, uh…”

Lance chuckled, the very sound warming the air inside the small photo booth. “Me too, Pidge.”

_2…_

Lance leaned towards her, and Pidge met him halfway.

_1…_

This time Pidge’s eyes were already closed when the light flashed.

* * *

 

“What took you guys so long?” Hunk asked Pidge and Lance when they finally filed up to the cashier at Vrepit Sal’s, hair a little disheveled and Lance in Pidge’s glasses.

Pidge and Lance didn’t look at each other, but Lance cleared his throat and said, “We, uh, got distracted by a photo booth.”

“Really?” Hunk approached the counter as soon as they took their order, his hands clasped together in excitement with a wide grin on his face. “Did you take pictures? Can I see?”

“No,” Lance said over Pidge, who said, “Definitely not.”

Hunk blinked at them, startled by their vehemence. He said, “What are you hiding? I’ve seen both of you covered in your own blood; I’m pretty sure I can handle whatever goofy faces you made.”

As another worker brought them their food, Pidge peeked at Lance from the corner of her eye, smiling when their eyes met, but then she turned back to Hunk and admitted, “Oh, trust me, Hunk. These are something we’d like to keep between us.”

“Special memories and all that,” Lance added, flinging an arm around Pidge’s shoulders and pulling her closer.

Pidge grinned and leaned into him.

Hunk narrowed his eyes at them as the chilling realization - their demeanor coupled with their appearance - and deadpanned, “You guys made out in the photo booth, didn’t you?”

Lance then forcibly changed the subject, by nearly choking on a bite of his food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> edit: [mitzpitz09](http://mitzpitz09.tumblr.com/) did fanart of the [photo strip](http://mitzpitz09.tumblr.com/post/170913834901/photo-booth-au-inspired-by-sp4c3-0dditys) and it's amazing!! ~~i'm not worthy~~


	58. Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt posed on tumblr
> 
> Arranged marriage AU of an indeterminate era (steamships exist) with a nonlinear narrative, fluff, angst, drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170698950193/some-sort-of-kindom-au-where-pidge-and-lance-are)
> 
> I probably should've posted this one separately since it's a bit on the long side but oh well

Pidge never dreamed her first kiss would be in front of an audience, a show put on for a hundred guests, among whom were people she’d never met, or ever would again. She never dreamed it would be at her wedding, a simple chaste performance between bride and groom. She never dreamed it would be with a dear childhood friend, once so much to her and now…

Well, Pidge didn’t know what Lance was to her now, except her husband, till death do they part.

* * *

 

“You can call it off,” Matt told her just a few days before the wedding. They stood together outside the church in which the ceremony would be held after a brief conversation with the priest.

Lance and a few of his family members were still inside, having a more private meeting without the Holts there.

“Can I?” Pidge glanced sideways at Matt as she tied the ribbon on her hat under her chin, grimacing when the wind tugged at it, threatening to blow it away before she could secure it. “We need this marriage.”

“Not that badly,” Matt said, frowning at her. “I know you don’t want to marry him.”

Pidge shrugged and glanced over her shoulder, trying to see through the heavy wood of the church doors. “I could do worse.”

“But you could do better,” he said.

Pidge snorted and led the way down the steps towards the waiting carriage. “Could I?” she asked. “Before Father disappeared,  _maybe_ , but…we need the money to find him.”

“Pidge—”

“Stop,” she cut him off before he could press his argument. She crossed her arms and scowled at the ground as they came to a halt. “Stop telling me that I could put it off, because even if I did, I can’t do what I  _want_ in the meantime.”

Pidge marched away from her brother and hoped he wouldn’t comment on the slight trembling in her shoulders.

* * *

 

They danced together after the reception, and though Pidge would scarcely call Lance a friend, she still felt comfortable enough in his presence to submit to  _this_ particular tradition.

Lance danced well, guiding her through the steps with the effortlessness of long practice. Pidge remembered learning to dance with him, even pairing off with him at his eldest sister’s wedding years ago, when they were both still children, and was  _comfortable_ if not entirely  _enthused_ about this.

“You feel any better?” Lance asked.

Pidge frowned at him. “About…?”

“About this, or about us?” He raised an eyebrow at her, the only indication that he was nervous about her answer his grip on her hand tightening.

“I always liked dancing with you, Lance,” Pidge admitted with an unwitting smile. When Lance blinked at her in surprise, she added, “But, to answer your question, yes, I do actually feel better now that we don’t have to kiss anymore in front of strangers.”

Lance chuckled, and Pidge felt the vibration through each point of contact between them. “I can’t say I cared much for that part either.”

Pidge laughed. “You not wanting to put on a show?” she scoffed. “Inconceivable!”

“Hey!” Lance said, sounding indignant though he was smiling. “I would just rather kiss someone – you – a little more privately.”

Pidge nodded and said, “That would’ve been nice.”

“Well,” he said as his cheeks reddened, “at least we won’t have an audience for our wedding night.”

Pidge swallowed, her palms sweating while her stomach flipped unpleasantly, and couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye for the rest of their dance.

* * *

 

Lance stared at the chessboard between them, fingers grasping his chin while he contemplated his next move – or, at least,  _looked_ like he contemplated his next move.

Pidge, growing more impatient with every second that passed, pulled her feet up onto the chair, sitting in a position that her mother would chide her for being  _unladylike_. She toyed with the pieces she’d already captured from Lance, trying to balance a pawn on top of a rook before knocking it off with a flick of her finger.

“What if…” Lance mused before trailing off.

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him and said, “Just pick a piece and move it, Lance.”

“That’s how I lose,” he retorted without looking at her.

She sighed and crossed her arms.

At long last, Lance nudged his queen almost halfway across the board. “Check,” he said, flashing her a glance and smirking.

Pidge rolled her eyes and examined the board, offering him a smirk of her own when she saw that he’d left his king wide open. “Oh, Lance?” she sang as she moved a knight.

“Yes, Pidge?” Lance’s smug gaze drifted from her back to the board, and when he saw what she wanted him to, his smile faltered. “Oh.”

“Checkmate,” Pidge declared, watching Lance bury his face in his hands. “It’ll take you a bit more practice before you’re a match for me.”

Lance snorted and shot her a glance. “Good thing we have the rest of our lives together then.”

Pidge bit her lip and quickly busied herself putting the pieces back into their sack, echoing, “Yes, good thing.”

* * *

 

The night was made for candid conversations, for poorly phrased confessions and outbursts, for unbridled compassion and emotion, and for…

Well, for what Lance blessedly agreed they ought not do just yet.

Pidge laughed when he did, her heartbeat slowing and her nerves soothed; she hadn’t realized how anxious she’d been about consummating their marriage.

(They’d have to do it eventually.)

She was so relieved that she wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her forehead to his chest. “Thank you,” she mumbled into his shirt.

Lance swiftly returned her embrace, something about it warming her to her very core, his chin resting on her head. “Would you respect me any less if I said that I was nervous too?” he wondered.

Pidge tightened her grip on his shirt, surprised that he would admit to it, without either brushing it off or posturing. But then she snorted – they were  _married_  now; of  _course_ he could admit it to her! – and was unable to repress a grin as she shook her head. “That just makes me feel better about it.”

“Good,” he said.

There was something Pidge liked about being held like this, strong arms around her and a steady heartbeat beneath her cheek. She liked the way Lance’s voice made his body vibrate against hers, and she recalled the comfort she felt simply dancing with him earlier.

She could do this; she could be married to him. Love would come later, her mother had promised, and until then they could become friends.

Pidge could trust Lance, if one day with her heart and body, then just as easily with her mind.

* * *

 

Pidge insisted on going down to the docks to hire a ship herself, but she’d agreed with Matt that she wouldn’t go alone. So she took Lance with her, if only because his family was giving her the funds her family needed as a stipulation of the marriage contract.

“And we can’t take any of your family’s ships?” Lance asked as he peered up and down the waterfront, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His enthusiasm about being so close to the water was nearly infectious, and Pidge found herself smiling without meaning to.

“They’ve all be repossessed,” Pidge reminded him. “If we could’ve, then—” Then she processed every word she said, snapping her head around to stare at him. “Wait,  _we_?”

“Yes?” Lance stuffed his hands into his trouser pockets and raised an eyebrow at her. “You and I? Me and you? The two of us?  _We_.”

Pidge blinked at him. “A-are you—you want to come  _with_ me?”

“Well, obviously.” Lance frowned at her. “Did you think I’d stay here while you leave? We’re getting  _married_ , Pidge; I’m not going to let you go on your own.”

Pidge crossed her arms and glared at him, temper flaring. “ _Let_ me?”

Lance sighed and amended, “All right, I wouldn’t  _like_ you going on your own. Is that better?”

She bit her lip and grudgingly nodded, then said, “I’m not entirely satisfied with your answer.”

“Pidge, what about we’re getting  _married_ don’t you understand?” Lance demanded. “Do you not know how important that is?”

“Of course I do,” she retorted, her eyes slipping past his face and towards the ships making port. “Of course I do,” she repeated, quieter. “I have to beg another family for money, and I can’t go to university, like I wanted…like my father promised.”

Lance rested a hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention back to him. “I know,” he said. At her confused glance, he smiled wryly and said, “You used to talk about that a lot when we were children.  _I’m going to get educated!_ ” He snorted, but there was still something almost  _fond_ in the way he looked at her, reminiscing. “And…I’m sorry you can’t do that yet.”

“Yet?”

“Yes,  _yet_ ,” Lance said, rolling his eyes. “As in, not at this moment, and maybe not next year, but someday, after you find your father, you can go  _get educated_.” He smiled at her and offered her his hand.

Pidge took it.

* * *

 

She woke unusually refreshed, a pleasant dream already escaping her memory when she opened her eyes to a view of the ceiling. She extended her arms over her head and rolled onto her side, but blinked in confusion when she saw the blankets tossed aside, Lance gone.

Pidge sat up, glancing around the bedroom, half-expecting him to be lurking in some corner, perhaps to surprise her awake, something she wouldn’t put past him. Instead, the door to the washroom opened, and Lance emerged, face bright and hair neatly combed.

“What time is it?” Pidge asked by way of greeting.

Lance grinned at her. “Good morning, darling!”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at the pet name. “How long have you been awake?”

Lance sat on his side of the bed and said, “No more than an hour.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “You snore a bit; has anyone ever told you that?”

Absurdly, Pidge’s cheeks enflamed. “Yes,” she said. “My brother never forgets to remind me.”

Lance snorted and said, “Well, I suppose you want to leave after breakfast with your family?”

Pidge nodded, the change of subject dispelling her embarrassment, and she swung her legs out of bed. “The sooner, the better,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Lance said while she marched to the washroom, “the ship won’t leave without you.”

“I still don’t want to risk it,” she tossed over her shoulder.

During breakfast, Pidge almost wished she could sink into her seat – or, better, that they already stood aboard their hired ship – when her mother bluntly asked, “Now that you’re married, when do you plan on having children?”

Pidge’s hand froze over her plate as her eyes widened. Her appetite shrunk, and she bit her lip, questing for an answer her mother might accept.

But better her freezing than Lance’s reaction. He held a cup of tea to his face, but as soon as they heard the question, he’d sprayed the mouthful across the table at Matt.

“I-I’m so sorry, Matt!” Lance said, recovering quickly as Matt, with the slightest smile, wiped drops of tea off his face with a napkin.

Pidge’s mother sighed and said, “I suppose I should be careful of the timing of my questions.”

“That would be a good idea,” Lance agreed while Pidge covered her face to hide her budding laughter.

Pidge exchanged an amused glance with Matt, at least until Lance shot her a glare. She smiled helplessly at him, nudging his feet with hers, and to her relief he smiled in return.

Ah, there it was again, that pleasant warmth blooming in her chest.

“Do you still want an answer?” Lance wondered, glancing towards his new mother-in-law.

Pidge stiffened then, holding her breath as she waited for her mother to reply. What would they say, anyway?  _No, we’re not going to start having children anytime soon because we_ just  _got married and I need to find Father first?_

“It would be nice,” Colleen said, spearing a blackberry with her fork.

Pidge shot a glance at Lance, quirking an eyebrow at him and silently asking him what he was playing at. He grinned reassuringly at her, then, before she could do much more than kick him warningly under the table, he returned his attention to Colleen and explained:

“Pidge and I got married only yesterday and are still getting to know each other, Madame Holt. And it just doesn’t seem fair to bring a child into the world if their parents don’t know each other as well as they should.”

Pidge blinked, taken off guard by the thoughtful answer, and she looked at her mother, waiting for her reaction.

Colleen said, “I suppose that makes sense, and you’ll be busy looking for your father as well.” She sipped at her own tea and averted her eyes from them, and Pidge frowned, staring at her plate and remembering how her mother reacted when she’d told her she intended to find her father.

She exhaled and rested her hand over Lance’s, then, after taking in the time displayed on the clock behind Matt’s head, she inhaled the rest of her food, impatiently tapping her foot while she waited for Lance to do the same.

Later, when the crew of the  _Castle of Lions_ prepared for launch after not one of its crew shot them a dirty look, Pidge crossed her arms and glared at Lance, who smiled sheepishly and said, “But we’re on board!”

Pidge rolled her eyes and leaned against the deck railing, gaze drifting out over the harbor and the wider ocean barely visible beyond its mouth. Her heart pounded in anticipation as the captain called for the anchor to be raised, the small ship’s engine bursting into life.

She glanced at Lance when she felt his eyes on her and smiled. “I’m glad you’re here, Lance,” she said.

He blinked at her in surprise, then offered a smile of his own, one that made warmth spread through her chest all over again. “I am too,” he said.

A beat later, his smile turned impish as he added, “Assuming I’m not killed by pirates, of course.”

Pidge scowled at him and said, “One push, and I’ll be a widow…” She smirked. “And my mother will never have grandchildren.”

Lance laughed so hard he doubled over, attracting the attention of a crew member.

“Is he all right?” the crew member asked.

“M-my wife is killing me, Hunk!” Lance said, barely comprehensible until he caught his breath.

Hunk frowned at him, then glanced at Pidge and wondered, “Should I be worried?”

Pidge shook her head, then smirked. “No,” she said, “but I can get used to him laughing at my jokes.”

Hunk, apparently appeased, walked away to resume his duties as the ship chugged away from the docks, past larger vessels bobbing with the waves while anchored in the harbor. Lance straightened and said, “Well, at least I know someone will avenge me if you  _do_ decide you’d rather be a widow.”

“Please,” Pidge said, slipping her arm through his and leaning her head against his shoulder, “after all the trouble I went through marrying you? I’m not wasting it anytime soon.”

Her face warmed when Lance’s only response was to press his lips to her forehead.

* * *

 

Pidge made sure Matt stayed close to her throughout the engagement party. Speaking to distant family members and snobby neighbors was easier in his presence, especially where he could smooth over any misunderstandings she might cause without meaning to, but something that caught her eye eventually lured her away from her brother.

Lance stood chatting with the daughter of one of her father’s old colleagues, smiling in a way that twisted Pidge’s stomach into knots. Her grip on her glass tightened, and before she could reconsider, she drifted towards them.

“Plaxum,” she greeted the girl, interrupting Lance mid-word, “I think your mother’s looking for you.”

“Oh,” said Plaxum. She smiled apologetically at Lance and said, “Congratulations on your engagement.” Then she left without so much as a backwards glance.

Pidge relaxed as she watched her leave, her fingers loosening around the glass in her hand. She bit her lip, fighting a frown as she wondered why she’d reacted so strongly to Lance talking in such a… _friendly_ manner to another woman close to their age.

It was just because they were engaged, wasn’t it? That was all; it made no sense for him to practically  _flirt_ with someone else at their  _engagement party_.

Pidge rounded on Lance. “The least you could do is  _pretend_ that we’re getting married,” she said, glaring at him.

“Oh, like  _you’re_ doing?” Lance retorted, snorting and crossing his arms.

Pidge blinked at him, surprised at his words. “What?” she said. “I’m not—”

“Excuse me, Miss Holt,” Lance said stiffly, “but if this is  _our_ engagement party, then why are you spending it with your brother? Why do you not ask me about myself? Why do you  _insist_ on keeping our relationship ‘purely business’ when we were friends once?”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, but before she could throw back a retort of her own, Lance swept past her, though rather than seeking out Plaxum again, he spoke with his sister.

Pidge wished she could feel more triumphant about that.

* * *

 

Something about living aboard a ship again brought both joy and sadness to Pidge, so much so that the mingling emotions kept her awake at night and set her to wandering the deck late in the evening. Sometimes she left Lance asleep in their tiny bed, but others her standing, the shifting of the thin mattress beneath them, woke him.

“Again?” he asked her, voice quiet as he cracked an eye to see her pulling on a coat.

“Again,” she said. She offered him a smile and said, “Go back to sleep. I won’t be more than an hour.”

“No, wait,” he said. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and got out of bed.

Pidge watched him dress, tugging a coat on to cover his bare chest. She averted her eyes, face warm even though they were  _married_ , and tapped her foot impatiently.

Once he was sufficiently covered, he followed her out of their small cabin and onto the deck. He shambled along beside her silently, as if still half-asleep, and Pidge was happy enough with that. But after too long, with only the steady hum of the ship’s engines and the lapping of the waves against its hull to fill that silence, Pidge said, “Keith is teaching me how to navigate by the stars.”

“Oh really?” Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Do you think he’d teach me too?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” Pidge said with a smirk. She didn’t understand Lance’s dislike of Keith, but she couldn’t help teasing him about it.

They walked all the way to the bow, staring over the railing and at the glittering ocean. “Soon,” she said.

“Soon,” Lance agreed, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

Pidge leaned into him and asked, “When was your first time on a ship?”

Lance hummed and said, “I think I was five or six. I went on my aunt’s fishing boat.”

“ _Ship_ ,” Pidge amended with a sideways glance. “When was your first time on a  _ship_?”

He snorted and smiled at her. “So the humble art of fishing doesn’t count?”

Pidge scoffed. “Not when your family is now as filthy rich as they are.”

He laughed, withdrawing a bit from her to lean his back against the railing so that he faced her. “All right, my first time on a  _ship_.” He tilted his head back and stared up at the sky, and for a moment Pidge allowed herself to admire his profile. “I was ten; it was the ship my father owned with my mother when they first went into business together.”

“A true partnership,” Pidge commented, half-amused.

Lance glanced at her and smirked. “You’d appreciate that, wouldn’t you, Pidge?”

She rolled her eyes and said, “Continue.”

“As you wish,  _darling_ ,” he retorted, sweeping a mocking bow at her. “Anyway, we didn’t go far that trip, just a bit up the coast and back again.” He smiled at the memory and added, “We saw a whale breaching, and some dolphins too. I thought I saw some sharks, but the captain told me that they were just rocks that we were doing our best to avoid.”

“Sounds like you had fun,” Pidge said.

Lance shrugged and rested his elbow on the railing behind him. “Not as much as you would think,” he admitted. “I got bored a little too quickly, so I tried to help the crew and…got into a bit of trouble.” He smiled, and Pidge wasn’t sure but she thought he was blushing.

Pidge stepped a little closer and smirked. “Did you fall overboard?” she asked.

Lance snorted and said, “God, I  _wish_. I tried to help lift the anchor and ended up dropping my part on my foot.” He tapped one of his feet, likely the one injured. “I broke several bones in it; my brother still hasn’t let me live it down.”

Pidge laughed, drifting close enough to him to stand between his feet. Her heart pounded, and despite the seriousness of her mission, despite her worry and  _dread_ for what they might find at the end of the journey, she couldn’t help being happy, at least in that moment.

When Lance met her eyes, the memory of their first and only kiss entered their mind.

“No one else is here,” Pidge observed quietly.

“The ship’s crew?” Lance said, raising an eyebrow.

“No one is here with us,” Pidge amended. “We don’t have an audience.”

Lance looked past her, then back to her. “And…?”

Pidge inhaled and wondered, “Lance, do you want to kiss me?”

His eyes widened, and she watched as they drifted down. “Yes,” he said, voice low. He leaned a little towards her, so close she could see stars reflected in his eyes. “Do you want me to kiss you, Pidge?”

Pidge nodded, but before she could say anything, Lance pressed his lips to hers.

After that, the walk back to the cabin seemed much longer than it had before.

* * *

 

“Why did we stop being friends?”

The sudden question jerked Pidge’s attention away from her journal. She set her pen down on the desk and looked up at Lance, who sat in a chair in the corner of her father’s old study, thumbing through a book he’d taken off the shelf at random.

“I…don’t know,” Pidge admitted after a brief hesitation. She strained to remember something, but all she could recall were good memories, of days spent at her home or his, of running through the halls and breaking vases, of swapping stories as if each of them carried an inexhaustible supply.

But somewhere, that changed, but whether they quarreled or simply drifted apart, Pidge couldn’t say.

“I can’t remember,” she said. Her heart sat heavily in her stomach, something like shame filling it.

“Me neither,” Lance said, shrugging. Then he smiled, though something about it seemed  _off_ , and said, “That’s all right though. I suppose we can be friends again now, whether we want to be or not.”

Pidge picked up her pen and stared unseeingly at her careful notes, at her plans for finding her father and bringing him safely home. And because she couldn’t think of what else to say, she simply agreed, “Yes, I suppose.”

Later, after Lance returned to his own home, Pidge picked up the book he left on the chair, frowning when she saw that it was one of her father’s old travelogues.

* * *

 

Pidge stood between Captain Coran and Allura at the bow of their ship, watching with held breath while they passed a looking glass between them.

“You agree that it’s Galra?” the captain asked the ship’s owner.

“Yes,” Allura said without hesitation as she peered through the glass, her lips twisting into a scowl. “That ship is, without a doubt, Galra.” She handed the looking glass to Pidge, who was finally permitted a look at the sort of ship that captured her father’s.

It didn’t look impressive from a distance, but Pidge knew it would be a great, hulking behemoth once they drew closer. From there she could see it belching black smoke into the pristine blue sky as its hull sliced through the waves.

Pidge swallowed, her palms sweating, as she took her leave from the captain and Allura.

Lance met her a few paces away. “Is it—”

Pidge nodded and allowed herself a hopeful, if small, smile. “We’re so close, Lance,” she said, “but we’re still so  _far_. This is a small ship; how do we take on something like a Galra battleship?”

Lance frowned thoughtfully at her. “Do we have to take it on?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you thinking?” she wondered.

“Well, if the captain and Allura agree…”

* * *

 

It was just a sheaf of papers, of undetailed plans and lists, but they still weighed heavily in Pidge’s hands when she showed them to Matt.

“They  _agreed_?” he asked, his eyes wide and stunned when Pidge told him the news. “They’re loaning us the money?”

Pidge smiled and nodded. “They are, but…” She tried to freeze her smile onto her face, but she knew Matt saw through her the second he furrowed his brow. “I have to marry one of them.”

Matt blinked at her once, twice, three times… “What?”

“I’m getting married to Lance McClain.” Pidge shrugged, despite the pounding in her heart when she thought about how she sealed her fate. “I’m getting married, and in exchange they fund my trip. It won’t even be a loan; it’ll be a  _gift_.” She rubbed her face tiredly, slumping into a chair while her brother rounded the desk – her father’s desk – and approached her.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Pidge?” he asked.

“It’s the best we have,” Pidge said, resigned. “Everyone else refused us, said it was a fool’s errand, that—”

“They were right.”

Pidge and Matt spun around at the sound of their mother’s voice. She stood in the doorway to their father’s study, frowning at them. Her face was drawn and pale – she hadn’t been outside much in the last year – but her eyes were still sharp as she leveled her gaze at them.

“Katie, I would be happy to hear you want to marry in any other circumstance,” her mother said, “but for this?”

Pidge got to her feet and walked towards her. “Mother, I  _know_ Father’s alive,” she said, and, after a gesture at her brother, she added, “And so does Matt! Why do you still doubt it?”

“I don’t know,” her mother admitted. She rubbed her face and smiled without any mirth. “I miss him too – you have no idea how much – but we have no proof that he lives, and I’m tired.”

“Then let me  _find_  proof,” Pidge insisted, glancing at Matt in a plea to help her convince their mother. “I’ll go and come back”—she swallowed, clenching her hands into fists—“with or without Father.”

Her mother stared at her for a long, hard minute, and as Pidge watched, something she hadn’t seen in her eyes in way too long entered them again. “I hope you find him, Katie,” she said.

“I will,” Pidge promised as she took her mother’s hand in both of hers. “I will”

* * *

 

Pidge bit her lip as the Galra captain boarded their miniscule ship, his booted footsteps falling heavily on what now seemed a flimsy deck, his figure imposing despite coming alone. To keep from fidgeting – and to keep from appearing anxious while thinking of Lance’s and Keith’s risky task – she focused her mind on the hope of an impending reunion with her father, on kissing her safely returned husband again and introducing them.

She clutched the fabric of her trousers tightly when the Galra captain approached Coran and Allura, his deep voice inquiring, “Who is the captain of this vessel?”

Captain Coran stepped forward, raising an arm when Allura tried to follow. “That would be me,” he said. He stared up at the Galra captain, who stood almost half a head taller than him.

“Are you aware that you are an unmarked ship sailing in Galra waters?”

Coran smiled so slightly it looked more like a grimace. “Ah, I hadn’t noticed,” he said, tone dripping sarcasm. He glanced at Allura. “Did you notice, ma’am?”

“Absolutely not,” said Allura with a shake of the head.

“Where do you sail from?” the Galra demanded.

“Well, we just left Arusian waters,” said Coran.

The Galra sneered. “Were you only passing through or did you make port while in Arusian waters?”

“I can’t quite recall,” Coran said. “Ma’am, do you remember if we made port in Arus?”

Hunk, standing to Pidge’s left, snickered softly, and even Shiro exhaled an amused huff.

Allura smirked. “I’m afraid I do not recall either,” she said.

The Galra captain glared at the two of them before he rounded on Hunk, who stiffened as his eyes fell on him. “Perhaps a member of your crew has a better memory.” He crossed his arms and stared pointedly at him. “Well?”

“I believe we last made port in Balmera,” Hunk said. “We took on coal to fuel the engines.” He smiled. “They do have the best coal in Balmera.”

The Galra’s eyelid twitched. “That is…true,” he conceded grudgingly, apparently deaf to Shiro’s snort.

Pidge rolled her eyes at Allura, who nodded very slightly towards the enemy ship. Pidge frowned, then followed her gaze to see a line being lowered from a wide porthole in the ship’s hull, descending towards the waves.

While she watched, a figure emerged from the porthole, clinging to the line, and even from this distance she recognized Keith, his shoulder-length black hair windswept as he raised a hand back towards the window.

Pidge gasped when a second person left through the porthole, arms grabbing hold of Keith while a third assisted them. Her breath caught, heart pounding wildly, because although his hair was thinner and lighter than she remembered, his clothes more utilitarian than the fine uniform he once wore, she knew him instantly.

“And you?” The Galra captain rounded on her, grabbing Pidge’s attention before she could catch sight of Lance. “You look too small to be a member of the crew.”

Pidge blinked at him, lips parting as she sought something to say…at least until Hunk flung an arm around her shoulders and claimed, “This is Pidge, the cabin boy. And small he may be, but he’s worth an adult sailor.”

Pidge swallowed and smiled, emboldened both by the lie and by the sight of her father making his way to safety, and agreed, “I bet I’m worth twice a Galra sailor too.”

Hunk’s grip on her tightened while Shiro winced, and even Coran’s sharp intake of breath was audible. But before the Galra captain could retort much more than the beginning of a snarl, a shout of alarm sounded from his ship.

“Captain!” someone yelled from his deck. “The prisoner has escaped!”

The captain spun towards his own ship and stalked over the deck towards the dinghy and crewmate waiting to row him back. “I will return once I see this taken care of,” he promised without a backwards glance.

“Will you?” Allura said with a sigh. But then she narrowed her eyes and raised a single hand.

Hunk and Shiro sprang into action, Hunk unarmed and Shiro with a rope fashioned into a makeshift garotte. Together they tackled the captain, their combined strength wrestling him under control despite his greater size.

“W-what?” the captain screeched in surprise, voice strained by the garotte around his neck. “Unhand me!”

“Not until our men are safely aboard again,” Shiro told him, an arm stretched across the Galra captain’s chest while Hunk confiscated the weapons he carried at his belt, including a pocketknife.

“This is very well-made!” Hunk complimented the knife as he flipped it open. “I think I’ll keep this when we let you go.”

The captain had no response to that.

“Oh, can I see?” Pidge asked, stepping forward and holding out her hand.

“Sure!” Hunk passed her the knife.

While Pidge played with the switchblade, she ventured towards the deck railing and peered up at the enemy ship. The activity aboard had frozen as soon as they realized their captain had been taken hostage – which served him right for having the arrogance to board them alone – but Pidge didn’t care much for that. Instead she scanned the waves below, gaze questing for the familiar sight of Lance seeking the maintenance ladder on the hull of the  _Castle of Lions_.

Her heartbeat picked up when an arm burst from the water’s surface, a hand reaching for purchase on a metal rung, three heads bobbing up as the waves threatened to pull them under again.

“Hurry!” Pidge shouted down to them while her father started up the ladder. “The longer it takes, the more likely the Galra crew will come up with a plan to rescue their captain!”

“Have a little patience, darling!” Lance yelled back at her. “This isn’t as easy as I make it look.”

Pidge rolled her eyes but still smiled when Keith retorted, “Shut up, Lance.” She grabbed the arms that breached the ship’s railing and pulled her father over until he toppled onto the deck, soaked and shivering.

“Father,” she said. When all he did was smile shakily in response, she shouted over her shoulder, “Allura, can I get some blankets?”

Allura was quick to respond, but by the time she arrived with a bundle of fabric, Lance and Keith were back on deck as well. “All right,” she said, nodding in satisfaction while she handed out blankets. “Now that you’re here… Coran, we’re ready! Full speed ahead!”

“As you command, ma’am!” the captain said, the ship lurching into motion as he and Hunk reenergized the engines, steering the  _Castle of Lions_ in the direction of home.

Pidge returned her attention to her father, who’d finally recovered enough from his shivering to smile at her. “Father,” she said again, “I knew we could find you.”

“I knew you would, Katie,” he said.

Pidge hugged him tightly, noting with some worry that his grip on her was weak. Then she turned to Lance and Keith. “Thank you,” she told them, reaching for both of their arms.

“Oh, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Commander Holt,” Keith said solemnly. “Shiro’s told me a lot about you.”

Yes, Pidge had questions about that, and she would get her answers, after…

She took Lance’s hand, interlacing her fingers with his and pleased to find that his skin was warm to the touch again. And for some reason, her stomach twisted with anxiety as she tugged him a little closer to her father. Then she smiled and said, “You remember Lance McClain, right?”

“I do,” said her father. “Thank you, son.”

“Uh…” Lance glanced from him to Pidge, a cautious smile on his face. “My pleasure.”

She continued, “Well, we’re married now, but only because I needed money to hire a ship to come rescue you, except now we’re in love too! Isn’t that great?”

Keith cleared his throat and seized the pause in conversation to take his leave. Lance snorted, but his smile widened.

“That’s…good to hear,” said her father, looking between the two of them with wide, uncertain eyes. “I can tell I missed a lot while I was…gone.”

“Don’t worry,” Pidge reassured him, “we’ll catch you up, and you’ll see Mother and Matt again before you know it.”

“Good,” her father said. He hugged her tightly again, and this time he pulled Lance in alongside her. “I’m so happy to hear that.”

Pidge sunk into his grip, smirking at the distant screech and splash as Shiro finally pushed the Galra captain overboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally actually _tried_ to make it a slow burn but i still cannot figure out how to slow burn to save my life


	59. Milkshake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt posed on tumblr
> 
> High school AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170661972673/can-you-do-a-plance-fanfic-high-school-au-where)

Lance’s stomach growled as he stepped into the bright lights just outside Kaltenecker’s Creamy Treats. He rested his hand on his abdomen and glanced longingly up at the neon green sign, bemoaning his utter lack of cash. He’d spent all the money he had on him earlier in the evening, when he and his friends went out for food before the dance.

Lance was about to resolve himself to a hungry evening of wandering around town while wearing a tuxedo, about to step past the smoothie shop’s cheery exterior, when he caught sight of a familiar figure at a table by the window.

Pidge sat with her back to the window, a pair of green headphones snuggled over her ears. Her backpack was open beside her chair, and she stared intently at her laptop screen. As Lance watched, she reached for a paper cup at her elbow and brought it to her face.

And, perhaps strangest of all, the thing that  _really_ grabbed Lance’s attention, was that she was sitting in Kaltenecker’s Creamy Treats watching a video while wearing a floor-length green-and-silver  _gown_.

Lance crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes suspiciously; when he’d asked a month ago if she wanted to go to prom, she’d said  _no_. Yet here she was, dressed to the nines in a setting that’s only dress code was  _no shoes, no shirt, no service_.

He knocked on the glass window, determined to get to the bottom of this.

Pidge didn’t react…because she wore headphones.

Lance tilted his head back, resigned, and marched into the shop, a bright and cheerful song greeting his ears, and making a beeline for Pidge’s table. He dragged a chair from a neighboring one and plopped into it backwards.

Pidge smiled at something on her screen, and Lance raised his eyebrows, waiting, waiting, waiting…

Her eyes flitted up to his face briefly before drifting back down, but then they shot back up and widened. “ _Lance_?” Pidge pressed a key on her computer and slid her headphones down to sit around her neck. “What are you doing here?”

Lance crossed his arms and rested them on the back of his chair. “Missed me?”

“Not really, no,” she said. She tapped her fingers on the table, gaze drifting to take in his appearance, and said, “I thought you went to prom.”

“I thought you  _didn’t_ ,” Lance retorted.

“I didn’t,” Pidge said, toying with a strand of styled hair. And now that Lance saw her face, he could see she wore a touch of makeup too, a hint of dark eyeliner and shiny lip gloss; simple but elegant, and decidedly  _Pidge_.

“So you dressed up to buy a smoothie?” Lance inquired with a pointed smirk.

Pidge slurped at her drink, loudly and  _deliberately_. “It’s actually a milkshake,” she said, “like  _you’re_ one to talk.” She eyed him up and down, taking in his clothes with an intensity that warmed him.

Lance tugged on his tie, loosening it. “Excuses.” He waved a dismissive hand and pointed at her. “Why’d you change your mind about going to prom?”

She snorted and set her drink down. “I didn’t; I just accepted a bribe.”

Lance squinted at her. “I don’t follow.”

Pidge shut her laptop, apparently giving up on finishing whatever she was watching when Lance interrupted. “I wasn’t  _going_ to go, but then my brother suggested I should.” She rolled her eyes. “And my mother gave me money to buy a ticket.”

“ _Did_ you buy a ticket?” Lance frowned; surely he would’ve noticed if she  _had_ …

“No,” Pidge admitted. She reached into her backpack and pulled out her wallet, flashing a few twenties at him. “I saved it instead.”

“Sneaky,” Lance conceded with an appreciative nod, “but that doesn’t explain the dress.”

Pidge tugged on the straps securing the dress to her bare shoulders. “My mother bought it for me,” she said. “It seemed like a waste not to wear it.” She sighed and added, “She also wanted to take pictures.”

“Did she not expect you to have a date?”

Pidge shrugged, resting her elbow on the table and leaning forward. “I told her I didn’t want one, and she accepted that, surprisingly.” She smiled. “She  _can_ be reasonable sometimes.”

“And she didn’t expect you to  _at least_ go with friends?” Lance raised a skeptical eyebrow at her.

“I told her I was going to meet you guys there.”

Lance stared at her for a beat, then burst into laughter. His shoulders shook with the force, and as he struggled to catch his breath, he said, “You dragged  _us_ into your lie too?”

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Why? Was it too much to hope you’d back me up?”

“What about when Allura and Hunk start posting  _group_ pictures on Instagram, huh? I know your brother follows both of them, so  _he’ll_ see.”

Pidge scowled. “He knows I skipped.”

That startled Lance into blinking at her. “Oh,” he said. “So it’s just your mother being left in the dark?”

“And I intend to keep it that way.” Pidge bit her lip and frowned at her closed laptop. “She thinks I’m not taking advantage of my senior year, as if I’m going to regret skipping prom in ten years. And I don’t want her to worry about me.” She crossed her arms on her computer and pillowed her chin on them. “I don’t really care for it though; it’s just a stupid dance.”

Lance stared at her, taking in her somewhat  _somber_ tone, the pains she went to just so that her mother wouldn’t worry. He sighed and said, “You could’ve gone with  _me_.”

Pidge glanced at him. “I didn’t really want to go  _at all_ ,” she insisted, “with my friends or not.”

Lance rolled his eyes, pretending like his heartbeat didn’t pick up, and said, “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I meant you could’ve gone with  _me_.”

Pidge met his eyes, a slight furrow on her forehead as she puzzled through his words, but then her lips parted in understanding. She sat up, a slight flush on her cheeks, and said, “Well, you didn’t ask.”

“What? Yes, I did!” Lance waved his arms, heat rising to his face. “I said,  _hey, Pidge, do you want to go to prom?_ And then you said no!”

“Because you never said anything about going with  _you_!” She sat up and gestured to him. “Besides, people go all out when asking someone to prom; it’s not like that question – and the way you phrased it – made it obvious you were asking me like it was some kind o-of  _date_!”

Lance rubbed his face, not a little frustrated – and mostly at himself. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate it if I went all out,” he confessed. “You don’t really seem like… _into_ those giant gestures.”

“I’m not…really,” Pidge said, tone softer, “but it might’ve spelled things out a bit differently.” Then she inhaled sharply, and when Lance looked up at her again she stared at some point past him, eyes just a bit glassy. “Besides, you…asked someone else later.”

“I…yeah,” Lance conceded. “I didn’t want to go without a date.” He guiltily shifted in his seat; maybe there  _had_ been a better way to handle Pidge’s rejection, something  _other_ than ask someone else in a flashier way than he’d asked Pidge, who seemed a little hurt…not that he could blame her.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Lance continued, drawing Pidge’s eyes back towards his face, “I  _did_ end up going without a date.”

Pidge snorted. “Oh, really? And what happened to Nyma?”

“She…got arrested”—Lance tapped his fingers on the table—“for stealing a car and taking it for a joyride.”

Pidge chuckled. “Oh, my God.”

“Yeah,” Lance said with a smile of his own, “so I went without a date, got tired of fifth-wheeling, and left. And I’m starting to think I wouldn’t have had much fun with her anyway.” He shrugged.

“You’re just saying that to make yourself feel better,” Pidge said, her tone less harsh than her words.

Lance winced. “Maybe.”

Pidge eyed him for a long moment, then asked, “Do you want a milkshake?”

“Uh, what?” He blinked at her in surprise; he had  _not_ been expecting that.

Pidge pulled a twenty from her wallet and passed it to him. “I’m rolling in dough at the moment thanks to my subterfuge.” She smirked at him. “Why don’t you buy yourself something on me?”

Lance stared at the bill for a heartbeat, then grinned and took it. “Careful with your generosity, Pidge,” he said as he got to his feet. “I may just buy out the whole shop.”

“I trust you not to,” Pidge said, her smile turning a little softer.

Lance saluted her and went to order a milkshake of his own.


	60. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "We could get struck by lightning, but you want to kiss in the rain."
> 
> Slight AU to canon, fluff and angst in about equal measure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/170866613578/the-other-week-when-i-was-taking-prompts)

Not all curses were magic, Pidge reflected bitterly. She lay on her back, loose stones digging into skin even through the thick fabric of her black suit. The Green Lion had collapsed nearby, the light long since faded from her yellow eyes. If Pidge lifted her head and craned it just so, she would be able to see the Blue Lion a few meters away in much the same state. And while neither Lion could be woken, they had no way of contacting the Castle for rescue.

On top of that, the sky roiled with ugly dark green clouds, obscuring the inky blackness of space. And unless Pidge missed her guess, those dense clouds would soon turn into a tempest.

A different kind of curse, Pidge mused when she heard Lance’s footsteps.

“You hungry?” he asked as he crouched beside her. He offered her a tube of rationed food goo, and when she shook her head - their situation stealing away her appetite - he shrugged and tore it open for himself.

“Do you have to slurp so loudly?” Pidge complained after a dobosh of watching - and  _listening_ \- to Lance eat.

“It’s part of the experience, Pidge,” Lance said, but he obliged, making an effort to eat a little more softly.

Pidge sighed and rubbed her shoulder; she worried she’d pulled a muscle since it ached to move, but hoped it was nothing more than a bruise. She sat up, groaning, and when she glanced at Lance she met his eyes by chance. “What?”

Lance cleared his throat. “How long do you think it’ll take for our Lions to heal themselves?”

Pidge frowned and contemplated the Green Lion. She’d always wondered how and  _why_ they rejuvenated almost so  _easily_ after they sustained extensive damage, but she had yet to have the opportunity to investigate it. “I don’t know,” she admitted. Guiltily, she thought that if she  _had_ ever found the time, she would be able to give him a more definitive answer.

_I don_ _’t know._

Pidge hated the sound of that phrase with the entirety of her being, almost as much as she hated the sight of the words  _pilot_ and  _error_ strung together. She hated hearing  _I don_ _’t know_  nearly as much as she hated the feeling of the words escaping her lips.

 _I don_ _’t know_ was where ignorance lay.  _I don_ _’t know_ was where curiosity and motivation went to die.

 _I don_ _’t know_ was its own curse, and another without magic behind it at that.

“So…” Lance nudged her in the side, jerking Pidge from her ugly thoughts. “What are you thinking so long and hard about?”

Pidge crossed her legs and rested an elbow on her thigh. “Not knowing,” she admitted.

“Not knowing anything in particular?” Lance raised an eyebrow at her.

Idly, Pidge wondered if Lance was trying to set her mind at ease by asking her meaningless questions; it was another thing she didn’t know, but at least something she could find out if only she asked.

_Not yet._

“Not knowing when the Lions will be awake,” she told him with a shrug.

Lance smiled at her, causing warmth to spread through her chest, and said, “Don’t worry, Pidge.”

Pidge snorted and ran fingers through her hair, frizzy with humidity. “Thanks, Lance,” she said. “You’ve cured me!”

Lance rolled his eyes and patted her knee with a gloved hand. “Seriously, Pidge,” he said, “I doubt we’ll be here for long.” He grinned and directed a thumb over his shoulder at the Blue Lion. “Blue’s a pretty quick healer, at least, so if she’s up and running before Green, we can call the Castle from her.”

Pidge just shook her head, biting her lip. She wished she  _knew_ when they could expect that - ‘soon’ was never a satisfactory answer to her - but said, “I hope you’re right, Lance.”

“Hey, that’s a first,” Lance said cheerfully. He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I almost wish I’d taken a video, since who knows if it’ll happen again?”

Pidge bit her lip, but in the end, for all his teasing, she couldn’t help smiling. “Keep it up, and it definitely never will.”

Lance chuckled and said, “Ha, I finally got you to look something other than  _worried_ or  _mad_.”

Her smile turned wry, but she didn’t contradict him, instead allowing him this victory.

“But about that rain…” Lance glanced up at the sky. “Much as I miss it, we don’t know what those clouds are going to dump on us.”

“This atmosphere has a similar makeup to Earth’s,” Pidge told him. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she said, “I managed to scan it before the Green Lion lost all her power.”

Lance smiled warmly at her. “I’m not even surprised,” he said.

Pidge coughed when he stared at her a bit too long and said, “You were saying?”

“Oh, right.” His cheeks reddened, but he recovered quickly and said, “Let’s set up a shelter or a lean-to against the Blue Lion.”

“Sure,” Pidge agreed easily. Missing Earth or not, she didn’t particularly fancy getting drenched when the deluge began,  _and_ she’d made the mistake of leaving her helmet in her locked Lion. But after she stood to help Lance, she wrenched her arm, a spike of pain traveling from her shoulder. She bit her lip and tried to ignore it, but Lance noticed before he handed her a bundle of cloth.

“I forgot,” he said, frowning. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

“You didn’t do anything,” she told him, holding her arms out for the bundle.

Lance clutched it to his chest. “Uh, no, go sit back down. I’ll finish this.”

“Lance—”

“Pidge, you’re injured,” he reminded her sharply. “We don’t know what damage was done, so until you can get to a healing pod, we can’t risk you making it worse.”

Pidge rolled her eyes and threw him a mocking salute, but she acquiesced and said, “Yes,  _doctor_.”

Lance snorted with amusement, but even after she sat with her back against the Blue Lion’s foot, she still felt him throwing concerned glances at her while he worked.

“Now that we’ve got something to keep the rain off our heads,” he said once he’d finished erecting the makeshift shelter and sat underneath it with her, “why don’t you get some sleep?”

“I can’t sleep,” Pidge said, heart heavy with dread.

“Well, at least try,” Lance said, “and we’ve got this shelter so if it starts raining it won’t wake you—”

“Lance,” Pidge interrupted, glancing sideways at him until he met her eyes, “I literally  _can_ _’t_ sleep. I never have.”

Lance stared at her uncomprehendingly for too long, his eyes wide and mouth flapping, but then he said, “Wait,  _what_?”

Pidge wrapped her arms around her legs as she averted her eyes and said, “Don’t let that stop you from taking your nap.”

Lance scooted closer to her, resting a hand on her shoulder and drawing her attention back to his face. “Pidge, can you  _explain_ that? What do you mean you  _can_ _’t_ sleep? And how the  _quiznak_ haven’t we noticed?”

“Well, it took you a year to find out I was a girl,” Pidge pointed out, but when Lance scowled, unamused at her half-hearted joke, she shrugged and added, “It’s hereditary in my family. My mother was the same way, and so is my brother.”

“Wait, your mother  _was_?”

Pidge nodded. “Her  _curse_ \- if you want to call it that - was broken.” She rested her chin on her knees, and waited for the inevitable.

“How did she manage that?” Lance asked.

Pidge sighed, avoiding his eyes. “Well, either you die young because - wonder of wonders -  _not sleeping_ is actually bad for your health.” She snorted to show her sarcasm. “But the other way is really…” She cleared her throat, her face hot.

 _It_ _’s just the humidity,_ she told herself, knowing fully it was a lie.

“So…?” Lance prompted with a nudge. “Is it true love’s kiss?”

Pidge darted a quick glance at him, long enough to see that he raised his eyebrow at her, curious. But then she slowly nodded.

Lance laughed.

Pidge scowled and demanded, “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Lance waved a hand at her, gasping for breath as he tried to rein in his laughter, then said, “Quiznak, Pidge, I don’t know!”

“Well, is there anything you  _do_ know?” Pidge said with a frustrated growl. “It’s like…we don’t know anything at all! I don’t know when our Lions will wake up, I don’t know where my father is, and I don’t know when we can go back home!”

Lance blinked at her, a hand reaching out to her. “Pidge—”

“I’m just  _tired_ of it!”

“Tired? The girl who can’t sleep?”

“Shut  _up_!” Pidge elbowed him in the side, harder than she meant to, so when he flinched, she quickly said, “I’m sorry, Lance. This isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” he told her, though he rubbed his side where she’d hit him. “It’s not your fault we’re stranded on a planet beneath a thunderstorm, and it’s not your fault that we can’t leave it anytime soon.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better about not  _knowing_ ,” she grumbled. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “You  _should_ sleep,” she added softly. “I’ll wake you up if one of the Lions does too.”

Lance frowned at her, a worried wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he reached up with a hand and tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ear. Pidge froze, heart pounding when his fingers brushed her cheek. What was he  _doing_?

A clap of thunder interrupted her speculation, accompanied by the dense clouds overhead finally dumping their load. And much to Pidge’s chagrin, their shelter wasn’t as secure as they’d thought, since her hair uncomfortably clung to her face within doboshes.

“Guess I won’t be sleeping either,” Lance said with a light laugh, withdrawing his hand and staring out at the storm.

“Yeah,” Pidge agreed. She rubbed her shoulder, the damp making it ache even more, and leaned against Lance. “Guess you’re just as cursed as I am for now.”

“Don’t be like that, Pidge,” Lance said. “It’s just…just like a camping trip gone wrong.”

“I hate camping,” Pidge deadpanned.

“Bad example then, but hey, at least you’re not alone, right?” He smiled hopefully at her, resting his gloved hand over hers.

Pidge returned his smile as best as she could and agreed, “Yeah, at least.”

“See? Not so bad!” Lance ran his fingers through his wet hair, making it stick up despite the rain that still dripped onto it through the fragile roof of their shelter. “So what do you do all night since you can’t sleep?”

Pidge shrugged, wincing when the motion tugged at her shoulder, and said, “Coding and research, read, play video games…” She rolled her eyes. “The same stuff I do when I’m awake.”

“I still can’t believe none of us even  _noticed_.”

“Maybe someone did but never said anything.” Pidge rubbed her eyes, ignoring the almost reproachful glance Lance threw her way, and admitted, “I still feel tired most of the time, and I did my best to hide it.” She frowned and added, “I think Shiro might’ve picked up on it, or at least must’ve noticed when Matt didn’t sleep at all on their mission.”

“Huh, yeah, close quarters would probably make it hard to hide something like that.” Lance raised both eyebrows at her to show what, exactly, he thought of that.

Pidge smiled sheepishly and said, “Lance, what would it matter if I  _did_ tell you? I can’t do anything about it.”

“Then why did you tell me now?” he wondered. “Why not just lie down and close your eyes? Sure, I might notice your breathing’s not deep enough, but I won’t actually think  _huh, guess Pidge is cursed to never sleep_.”

She snorted, amused despite their situation, despite the rain steadily dripping into her armor and soaking the fabric of the black suit underneath. “It just seemed like the right time to say it,” she said, surprising herself. Since when did she do something just because she  _felt like it_?

 _Often,_ said the unbidden thought.  _Too often._

They sat in silence for a few doboshes after that, broken only by the rain splashing into accumulating puddles and claps of thunder so close they shook the ground beneath them.

But then Lance cleared his throat and asked, “So…you’re cursed and you know what can break it, so why don’t we give it a shot?”

“Give what a shot?” Pidge asked. Her head was heavy, shoulder stiff, and she’d been lulled into something like a trance by the steady rain and the feeling of a warm body - of  _Lance_ _’s_ warm body - pressed against hers.

“Give that whole…true love’s kiss thing a shot,” Lance said.

Pidge blinked at him, uncomprehending for a few tics, but when she understand she immediately put space between them, her face hot as the image rose unbidden in her thoughts. “No!” she denied.

“Why not?” Lance said with a nonchalant shrug. “What have you got to lose?”

Pidge gaped at him, ignoring that she’d nearly slipped out beyond their shelter. “B-because I—and you—and  _me_ —and—” She cut herself off, inhaled to try to collect her thoughts, and said, “This isn’t some fairy tale, Lance.”

“I never said it was,” Lance told her. He reached a hand out to her, beckoning her closer, but Pidge didn’t accept.

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Not like…not like  _this_.”

Lance sighed. “All right, but why not?”

“B-because what’s the point?” Pidge raised her hands, growing frustrated. “I-I don’t like that you’re so… _calm_ about asking to  _kiss_ me! I want it to  _mean_ something, especially if—” She cut herself off, eyes wide; she’d said  _enough_. “Besides, how do we know it’ll work?”

“We don’t,” Lance admitted.

“But I  _need_ to, Lance!” Pidge said. “I can’t just do something like-like  _kiss_ you without knowing it’ll work! It’s too…too  _much_!”

“That…makes  _no_ sense,” Lance said.

Pidge rubbed her face, groaning in her hands. “Lance, are you even  _listening_ to yourself? We could get struck by lightning, and you want to kiss in the rain!” As if punctuating her statement, a yellow flash ignited the sky, its intensity leaving an afterimage on the inside of Pidge’s eyelids when she blinked; but she paid it little attention, instead staring at Lance and awaiting -  _dreading_ \- his reaction.

“You know,” Lance said with a slight frown, “I never pegged you for someone that would dismiss a worthwhile idea without at least trying it.” He spoke softly, so softly the rain and a distant rumble of thunder nearly drowned out his voice. “And if it doesn’t work, and I’m not your ‘true love’ or whatever, you lose nothing.”

Pidge bit her lip but managed to hold his eyes. Her palms sweat unpleasantly inside her gloves, and though every bit of her exposed skin - and a fair bit that stayed covered - was soaked,  _that_ particular dampness occupied her mind.

“I-it’s not that I don’t want to try,” she admitted quietly to him. “It’s that I’m…scared of what it would mean if it works, or if it doesn’t.”

Lance crossed his arms. “Would I really be that bad of a ‘true love’?”

“N-no!” Pidge said quickly, waving her hands in an attempt to assuage that concern, though her rapid denial brought a  _new_ flush to her face. “It’s that I…” She sighed and rubbed her aching shoulder. “Quiznak, Lance.” She laughed. “I thought it was obvious.”

“Not really,” Lance said. “You know how dumb I am sometimes.”

Pidge approached, sighing in relief when less rain pelted her deeper under the shelter, until she stood in front of him. “Lance, I just…think I’d be disappointed…” She cleared her throat though nothing but her own tumultuous thoughts and anxieties obstructed her words. “At this point, I think I’d be disappointed”—or  _worse_ —”if you  _weren_ _’t_ my… _that_.”

Lance coughed then, rubbing the back of his neck and averting his eyes. “I…Pidge—”

“Look, if you don’t feel the same, then that’s fine!” Pidge said hurriedly, heart pounding so loudly she thought Lance would be able to hear it over the thunder and rain. “That’s why I can’t kiss you, because I’ve already wasted so long being in love with you that…for once, I really don’t want to know.” She stared at her feet, biting her lip.

She sighed and said, “Quiznak, I’m going to kill Hunk for that advice. I  _don_ _’t_ feel better after telling you, which isn’t that surprising!” She pressed a hand to her forehead. “I shouldn’t have told—”

“No, I’m glad you did!” Lance interrupted. He took her hand and pulled it away from her face, forcing her to look up at him. “I just…needed a while to process that because holy  _quiznak_.” He laughed, actually looking  _happy_ despite the situation. “Quiznak, Pidge,” he breathed.

“What?” Pidge blinked at him, unsure what was happening.

“Pidge, I…” Lance grinned so widely it threatened to blind Pidge as much as the lightning flashing outside their small, wet little world, and so infectiously that Pidge followed suit without meaning to. “Is it really so unbelievable that I’d want to kiss you for some reason  _other_ than a stupid curse?”

Pidge nodded, though she was beginning to think  _she_ _’d_ been the dumb one here. “Yes, a bit,” she said, “considering you spent the first year or so of our  _friendship_ flirting with anyone and anything with long hair and a pair of breasts.”

“Okay, I…may resent that,” Lance said with a grimace, “but…yeah. I was awful.”

“You weren’t,” Pidge said. “Just obnoxious.”

“Because that’s better?”

Pidge laughed and squeezed his hand. “Yeah, it is, actually.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his chest and smiling wider when his chin touched the top of her head. Her heart felt so  _full_ , so  _warm_ that she thought every drop of water clinging to her and her armor could be vaporized.

“I love you, Pidge,” Lance finally said.

Pidge shuddered, wrapping her arms around him. “I know,” she said.

“D-did you just Han Solo me?” Lance accused her.

Pidge pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “It wasn’t intentional,” she said. “I just…I’m glad I know that.”

“Well, then you want to know something else?”

Pidge’s smile faltered very slightly, taking in Lance’s hopeful - yet concerned - face, his eyebrows furrowed in an uncharacteristic expression. Then, cautiously, she nodded. “Okay,” she said, taking a deep, shaky breath. “Kiss me.”

Lance complied, his lips catching hers in a firm yet soft kiss. Pidge clung to him, eyes closed and her whole body warm as the storm seemed to grow silent around them.

Lance pulled away before she wanted him to, but somehow still left her breathless. He stared at her, eyes wide and expectant, and Pidge opened her mouth to ask him why until she remembered.

“I…I feel a little dizzy,” she admitted, putting a hand to her temple. And she did, the ground seeming to tilt beneath her feet though Lance held her steady, his hands on her waist.

“Do you feel…sleepy?” Lance wondered.

“I…don’t know what that would feel like,” Pidge said with a giggle. “Quiznak, I’m always tired but I’ve never been  _sleepy_ in my life!” She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, hiding a yawn that split her face.

“Did you just… _yawn_?”

Pidge blinked and lifted her head. “I…yeah. Holy  _quiznak_.” Her knees shook then, as if her legs couldn’t support her weight, and even her head felt heavy on her neck. “Lance,” she said, clutching tightly to his arms, “I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Wait, Pidge—!”

Pidge was already unconscious before Lance caught her.

* * *

 

A bright light penetrated Pidge’s eyelids first, alerting her to a change in her environment, but then a chill shook her, raised goosebumps on her skin, and a hiss of air woke her.

Pidge gasped in shock when her legs didn’t move, stumbling out of a healing pod and into someone’s waiting arms. She groaned, her entire body aching in an unfamiliar way, as she glanced up into Lance’s waiting face.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” Lance quipped with a fond smile. But before she could reply - with a retort or a smile of her own - he frowned at her and wondered, “Wait, so you never even slept inside the  _healing pods_?”

Pidge wrapped her arms around Lance and laughed.


	61. Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted but: Pidge has a nightmare
> 
> Canon-verse, emotional hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171176533543/beats-back-writers-block-by-hammering-out-2000)

Lance paused the game and leaned his head back against his bed frame to inspect the screen. The dragon’s mouth was frozen in place, jaws parted with a lick of red flame only just poking out.

And Lance’s little avatar was a sitting duflaz in front of it.

“Well…” He hadn’t gotten any further in the story than he had the night before, so he stood and turned off the Gameflux; he was getting bored playing the same level over and over again anyway.

Lance frowned, staring around the dark room - even darker now that the screen was turned off - and searching for something else to occupy himself. His bouts of insomnia were rare - practically nonexistent when still on Earth - but something about today made his thoughts too active and his limbs too restless.

Even snuggling Pidge’s headphones over his ears and listening to a few low, soothing tunes hadn’t helped calm the chaos in his mind.

Lance sighed loudly, though there was no one around to hear it…which, now that he considered it, was something he could easily change.

He stood, stuffed his feet into the blue lion slippers - which he’d managed to keep despite their shuffle - and walked out of his bedroom door. In the hallway, he only paused for a heartbeat before turning towards Pidge’s own door, knowing that, if anyone was still awake this deep in the night cycle (and willing to put up with him), it would be her.

Lance knocked on her door, the sound echoing oddly through the empty hallway. Shuffling his feet, he waited for a dobosh or so, frowning when there was no response from within. Could she be in the Green Lion’s hangar? Could she actually be  _asleep_?

He’d half-turned to venture in the direction of the hangar, her most frequent haunt, when the door slid open with a soft hiss of air. Lance grinned, surprised at how relieved he felt when he spotted Pidge sitting at her desk in front of a black computer screen.

“Lance?” she said, blinking as she turned her head to stare at him. She smiled, a little tentatively it seemed, and said, “I didn’t think you ever stayed up this late.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Then who did you think knocked on your door?”

Pidge shrugged, eyes roving around her cluttered room. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I didn’t expect you.”

“I don’t know if I should feel insulted by that or not,” Lance admitted.

She chuckled, though something sounded insincere and forced in it, and said, “It was just an observation. I…I think I’d rather you than almost anyone else right now, actually.”

Lance’s eyes widened, surprised at the admission, but a pleasant warmth bloomed in his chest at it. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I couldn’t sleep, so do you mind if I keep you company?”

Pidge glanced from him to her computer screen, hands wringing the hem of her green pajama shirt. “I—”

“If you want me to be quiet, I’ll be quiet.” Lance raised his hands, reassuring her. “I think I’m just too restless to be alone right now.”

Pidge met his eyes, the dim light from the hallway making them shine in her dark room, and, after a few tics of consideration, nodded. “Okay,” she said, “but you don’t have to be quiet if you don’t want to.”

Lance practically skipped into her room at those words, barely hearing the door slide shut behind him as he picked a careful path around gizmos and gadgets and quiznak knew whatever else. Without invitation, he collapsed backwards onto her bed, sinking into the sheets and staring up at the dark ceiling.

“So what’re you working on?” Lance asked her once he was comfortable, hands folded on his chest.

Pidge shifted in her chair and said, “I wasn’t working on anything. You didn’t really interrupt me.”

“Huh, you were trying to sleep on time for once?” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, curious about how she’d react to his teasing, but frowned when she pulled her feet up onto the chair with her, arms wrapping around her legs.

She didn’t look at him.

“Pidge?” Lance said when the silence had stretched for too long. He sat up, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Pidge said, too quickly. She sighed and added, “Perfectly fine.”

“Did something…wake you up?” Lance wondered.

Pidge’s eyes flicked very briefly to his face before drifting away again. One of her hands clutched tightly at her opposite wrist where they bound her legs, and for one long heart-stopping moment Lance held his breath, waiting for—

Pidge inhaled shakily and said, “It was just a dream.”

Lance stared at her, stunned she’d told him, though…well, perhaps it shouldn’t be surprising at all. They’d come far - perhaps a little too literally - since the Galaxy Garrison. But…

“Want to talk about it?” he asked. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he quickly added, “I know you think it’s just a dream, but whatever it is must’ve…rattled you a bit.”

Pidge buried her face in her knees, but then, voice muffled by fabric, she said, “C-can I just…sit with you for a bit?”

Lance shrugged and waved a hand. “It’s your room,” he said. “Am I not the one sitting with you?”

Pidge laughed, but there was something distinctly fragile in it, something that made Lance’s chest hurt almost as much as it warmed it.

She stood and walked over to him, sitting on her bed beside him but leaving a bit of space between them. Lance thought she could benefit from the gap closing, but he didn’t want to push her.

“I’d just ended a call with my brother when you knocked,” Pidge explained. “I, uh, I n-needed to see him and hear his voice to really…believe it.”

Lance gaped at her, surprised that she was unloading on him without much prompting, and about something he knew nothing about. “What happened?”

Pidge finally bridged their distance, her arms winding around him with impressive strength for her size. Fingers tugged on his shirt, and he felt her shaking against him.

“I-I never t-told anyone,” Pidge said, voice thick with unshed tears, “w-what I found when I looked for him.” She sobbed into his shirt.

Lance held her tightly as she did, heart clenching while he reminded himself to be patient, that Pidge would talk when she was ready, like she had so far. Her hair tickled his face while she shook, her sobs shifting from great heaving hyperventilation to more shallow gasps as they lost their strength. Tears soaked into his shirt, but he didn’t care about that. He sighed, heart dropping into his gut because he couldn’t do anything for her at the moment. But he tried, humming a lullaby his mother used to sing for him whenever he was upset, and he stroked her soft hair with one hand while rubbing her back with the other.

“You’re safe, Pidge,” Lance told her, managing to keep his own voice from trembling. “You’re fine, you’re…with me. It’ll be okay.”

“I-it’s not me I d-dreamed about, Lance,” Pidge said haltingly as she struggled to control her crying. She shifted, loosening her grip on him and sitting up to wipe her red face. She sniffed and said, “It’s M-matt. I…I was at the graveyard again.”

“Graveyard?” Lance didn’t know anything about a graveyard…

“I-it was raining again, a-and the water was soaking into my armor, a—”

 _Rain?_  Lance shook his head; now was not the time to get distracted.

“—and it was just like the first time, except…” Pidge took a shuddering breath and pressed the heels of her hands onto her eyes. When her pause still lingered, Lance rested a hand on her shoulder, and she glanced up and said, “The dates were…right.”

“What…dates?” Lance asked, confused. Graveyard, rain, dates…

“There was a-a graveyard on one of the f-first planets I tracked Matt to,” Pidge said, her voice now coming a little steadier. “I found his g-grave, but then I noticed they weren’t his real birthday and were coordinates. That’s how I found him.”

Lance smiled. “Well, that’s brilliant.”

Pidge snorted. “Maybe, but I had a nightmare that…” She hugged herself, rubbing her arms. “The right dates were on it instead.”

Lance blinked at her, then blinked again, at first slow to comprehend until he said, “Oh. Oh, Pidge, I—”

“I called Matt and…I didn’t tell him,” Pidge admitted, glancing back towards her computer. “I didn’t want to worry him, especially since we just found each other again, and it’s…” She shrugged and looked back at Lance. “I’m okay.”

“Right,” Lance said disbelievingly, “but maybe talking about it did you good?”

Pidge nodded slowly. “I…yeah, I hope so,” she said, “but that wasn’t the first time.” Her eyes drifted down to the bedspread.

Lance put her words together quickly and said, “I’m sorry, Pidge. I…don’t like seeing you hurting like this.” He withdrew his hand from her shoulder, laughing nervously as he played with a loose thread on the hem of his shirt, and added, “None of us would.”

“I know,” Pidge agreed. “I just…we have a lot going on, and with Lotor, and Zarkon, and everything I thought I could handle it by myself.”

“You’re not a one-man island, Pidge,” Lance told her, but after reconsidering he amended, “You’re not a one- _woman_  island.”

Pidge smiled, looking very slightly amused. “I know,” she said. “I…thank you, Lance.” She wrapped her arms around him again, leaning into him and burying her face into his chest, her body pleasantly warm and soft against his. But then she sniffed and said, “You came here looking for company, and you got this.”

“Maybe my timing was just really good?” Lance suggested. When she lifted her head to frown at him, he shrugged and said, “If I hadn’t been here, you would’ve had a meltdown alone, and that’s not much fun.”

“Having one with someone there isn’t much fun either,” Pidge pointed out.

“Still beats being alone.” Lance pulled her against him, smiling when her head nestled under his chin. “Anyway, as long as you feel better.”

Pidge sighed. “I don’t think the nightmare will stop,” she said quietly.

“Probably not,” Lance conceded regretfully, “but if you keep reminding yourself it’s not real, and that you have us here for after, it might get better.” When Pidge didn’t say anything immediately, he wondered if she might’ve fallen asleep like this, but he prompted, “Pidge?”

“Huh?” she said, shifting. “I was just…thinking about how smart you are sometimes.”

Lance snorted, but he smiled as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head without thinking about it. When his mind caught up to his body though, his cheeks warmed, and he sincerely hoped Pidge didn’t notice as he said, “Wow, thanks, Pidge.”

She laughed and reached up to pat his cheek. “Anytime,” she said, but a tic later her expression turned more serious. “I…just let me know if you need me to return the favor to you, okay, Lance?”

He raised an eyebrow at Pidge, but smiled, the offer warming him to his core and making his heart pound just a little bit faster. “You got it, Pidge,” he said, and he leaned his forehead on her shoulder, content to hold her just like this and hoping she got as much comfort from it as he wanted to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats* has this been done before??
> 
> ~~my attempt to overcome writer's block~~


	62. With the Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a random prompt posed on tumblr
> 
> Modern/rock band AU, outsider PoV, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171408147073/hey-keith-plays-guitar-and-lance-plays-bass-so-he)

Keith tapped his pen against his lab notebook and blew a few strands of hair away from his face. He’d been meaning to catch up on homework for a while, and when Lance asked to meet him at the library, he’d accepted easily since it gave him an opportunity to take care of business.

Also, the fact that Lance was late,  _as usual_ , allowed him time to scan through Shiro’s proposed set list for their next gig between classes.

Keith alternated between his lab report and the list; for the most part he agreed with Shiro’s selections, but there was just one song that looked out of place—

A heavy textbook fell on Keith’s table, making him jump and glance up to see Lance. But before he could do much more than open his mouth, an accusation on the tip of his tongue, Lance sat in the chair opposite him, slumping with his legs stretched out far enough under the table that his feet brushed Keith’s.

“Something wrong?” Keith asked him.

Lance had an odd, faraway look on his face, including a slight smile, but at Keith’s question his eyes snapped onto his face and he gave a huffy laugh. “Nope, everything is great,” he said cheerfully, “maybe even better than great!”

Keith raised an eyebrow at him. “Then what did you want to meet about?”

Lance snapped his fingers, pointing at him, and said, “I need a favor from you, but first of all, did you see the set list for Saturday night?”

Keith pointed to his open computer screen. “Yeah, actually, I had a question about…well, what’s this song doing here? It’s not one of ours.”

Lance stood and walked around the table so he could peer over Keith’s shoulder, and when Keith glanced at him with narrowed eyes, he laughed again, this time rather awkwardly. “Ah, that’s the favor.”

“You want us to play this song?” Keith asked incredulously. “We only have a few days—”

“Nope,” Lance said. He went back to his seat and leaned towards Keith. “You - or you and I - only have a few days.”

His eyes bugged out of his face as he stared at Lance. “No.”

“Why not?” Lance said. He gestured towards Keith’s laptop. “You can learn the chords within only a few days, and—”

“Lance, Allura won’t approve this set list if it has something that we didn’t write,” said Keith. “She did us a  _huge_  favor, and—”

“I know,” Lance said, “which is why she and Shiro won’t get  _this_ version of the set list, and  _I_  will take all the blame.” He smiled hopefully at Keith.

He blinked and sighed. “It’s still not a good idea.”

“Huh, who would’ve thought  _you_  would be the voice of reason here?” Lance said, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Before Keith could retort, he added, “Also, I’m being  _perfectly_  reasonable with this favor.”

Keith scowled. “You expect me to learn a song I’ve never played before in just three days,” he said. “That’s not even  _close_  to reasonable.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Please, Keith, if anyone can learn a song they’ve never played before in just a few days, it would be you.”

Keith stiffened, taken off-guard by the compliment - and directed at _him_  and coming from _Lance_ , it had to be genuine. “Why do you want to play this song anyway?”

“Well…” Lance smiled sheepishly, face turning pink. “It’s for Pidge.”

Keith covered his mouth with his hand to muffle an involuntary, amused snort. “You’re going to stop our regular set in the middle of a crowded restaurant just so you can serenade Pidge?”

“Now you’re getting it!”

His snort turned into a chuckle before it finally morphed into a laugh loud enough to earn their table a few glares from other studying students. But then Keith told Lance, “All right, I’m in, but you owe me.”

Lance pumped his fist and grinned.

* * *

Shiro noticed the extra practice.

Of  _course_  Shiro noticed the extra practice.

“What are you and Lance up to after the rest of us leave?” Shiro wondered the second time, the night before Allura’s restaurant opening - the most important gig of their short career.

Keith clutched his guitar case to his chest and said, “Oh, you know, extra practice.” Internally, he thought,  _Damn you, Lance, swearing me to secrecy!_

Shiro, sitting comfortably on their sofa with a book open in his lap, raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Are you working on a new song without us?”

“Something like that,” Keith admitted.

“Well, you do know the set list for Saturday night is finalized, right?”

Keith exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself. Shiro and Allura wouldn’t be angry about their ploy! It wouldn’t jeopardize their band’s future! And Lance would owe him a favor after too!

“Don’t worry, Shiro,” Keith reassured his roommate. “Lance and I know what we’re doing.”

Now, if only he could get a handle on his chords…

* * *

An hour before their gig, just after Allura’s restaurant’s opening, Pidge inspected the equipment that the others unloaded from the van. “Keith,” she said, pointing a finger at a guitar case, “why did you bring two guitars?”

“In case a string snaps,” he said, his lie already prepared.

Pidge crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him, nudging the offending extra guitar case with her toes. “Isn’t this your acoustic?” she asked.

Keith blinked at her. “Yes,” he said.

“And you brought your acoustic along…in case a string snaps on your  _electric_?”

“Yup.”

Pidge squinted at him, still looking disbelieving, while Keith held her gaze, sweating under his shirt collar. Oh, he was going to _kill_ Lance if she found them out…

“He’s up to something,” Hunk supplied when he came back outside for something else. “He and Lance.”

“Hey!” Lance said, right behind him. “I’m not! Look!” He gestured to his own instrument, safely nestled inside its case. “I only brought the one bass.”

“No, you’ve been late coming home for the last couple days,” Hunk observed, pointing between Lance and Keith, “and I suspect it has something to do with Keith.”

Pidge glanced first at Lance, then at Keith, her expression unreadable. Was she trying to put the clues together? Was Lance’s surprise already  _ruined_?

Wait, who said it would even be  _welcome_?

“You guys are weird,” she finally said. She grabbed a speaker with both hands and lugged it inside, leaving Lance, Keith, and Hunk behind her.

Hunk crossed his arms and rounded on them as Keith relaxed. “Care to explain?”

Keith glanced at Lance, who shrugged at him. “You sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“Of course it is!” Lance retorted. “It’ll be great! You learned the music, and I know the lyrics, and I know for a fact she loves this song—”

“But will she be okay with it?” Keith reiterated. He waved his hands, gesturing towards the restaurant. “Will it be a  _welcome_  surprise?”

Lance blinked at him. “Oh,” he said. “Uh, well, I know…” He scratched his cheek and smiled. “I think so, yeah.”

“Wait, wait,  _wait_ ,” Hunk said, raising his hands and interrupting them. “What the hell is going on? And who are you talking about?”

Lance stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and admitted, “I’m singing a song for Pidge, and Keith is backing me up.”

“He can cry on my shoulder if she rejects him,” Keith agreed, despite his surprise that Lance was coming clean - though his eyes still widened at the insinuation that he’d even kept this plan from  _Hunk_.

“She won’t—”

“She won’t reject him,” Hunk informed them with a smile. He patted Lance’s back and said, “It’s about time, dude, except…why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re not great at keeping secrets,” Lance said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re the whole reason I know Pidge won’t hate this.”

Hunk laughed and clasped his hands together. “Okay, that’s fair,” he agreed.

“You guys just going to stand around and gossip?”

Keith spun around, smiling slightly when his eyes fell on Pidge, who stood in the restaurant’s back doorway with an annoyed look on her face. “We’re helping,” he said, and he picked up his acoustic guitar.

* * *

They’d arranged to play Lance’s song of choice at the very start of their second set, after the band’s break for dinner, so the break itself was spent eating, with the band congratulating Allura on her restaurant opening and Allura telling them that her customers only had nice things to say about their performance.

“Let us know when someone that can make us famous stops by,” Lance joked with a grin while he shook Parmesan cheese onto a slice of pizza.

“If you put anymore cheese on that pizza,” Pidge said from beside him, “no one else will get any.”

Lance rolled his eyes but happily passed her the Parmesan cheese.

Keith watched them together a little more closely than usual, paying them more attention than he gave to his food. He watched Pidge pick the mushrooms off her pizza and drop them on Lance’s plate, while Lance gave her his olives. Pidge snatched Lance’s drink and sipped from it without asking, and Lance didn’t comment on it.

Pidge smiled a little wider at his jokes than she did at Hunk’s, and Lance muttered asides to her and her alone almost as much as he spoke to the room at large. It was all very… _illuminating_  to Keith, who’d never really had a reason to look so closely at their relationship before.

It was none of Keith’s business, at least until Lance made it so.

Lance grew jittery towards the end of their break, nearly knocking down his drink and dropping his fork on the floor. “Ha, whoops!” he said, bending down to pick it up.

“You getting nervous, buddy?” Hunk asked him, tone suggestive.

“That’s not really like you,” Pidge pointed out with a frown.

“I’m fine!” Lance said. He waved a hand dismissively, but he shot a quick glance at Keith.

Keith nodded in understanding and stood, heading out before anyone else to check his acoustic guitar’s tuning.

Allura stood in his way, arms crossed and with her eyes narrowed. “Why do I feel that you’re up to something?” she demanded.

Keith stared at her, eyes wide. “Uh…”

“Well, whatever it is, so long as it doesn’t hurt my business, then it’s fine.” Allura smiled at him. “And you all are professional enough that I know I won’t have to worry.”

Every memory of rehearsal gone amiss because Pidge played some retaliatory prank on Lance or Hunk entered his mind, but Keith forced himself to return Allura’s smile and said, “You can count on us, Allura.”

“Good, I’m so glad!” she said, clapping her hands a couple times.

Keith stepped past her, but his sigh of relief proved premature when she trailed after him. “Uh…what?”

“Why are you setting up ahead of everyone else?” she wondered.

Keith pinched his lips together as they reached the backroom where their other equipment was stored. “I…we have an acoustic piece in the next set,” he said, pointing to his guitar still resting in its case. He opened it and pulled it out, sitting in a chair and propping in his lap before experimentally strumming it.

“Oh, I see.” Allura narrowed her eyes, though she seemed more curious about his tuning efforts than about the set.

By the time Keith finished, Lance peeked his head into the room. “You ready yet?” he asked.

“Pretty much,” Keith told him. He stood, acoustic guitar hanging from his shoulders, and followed Lance back out towards the restaurant’s small stage.

Allura came with them, but after bidding them to ‘break a leg’ she returned to whatever duties restaurant ownership required of her.

Lance waggled his eyebrows at Keith suggestively. “ _You_  going to need my help serenading anyone down the line?”

Keith rolled his eyes and shoved Lance’s shoulder. “Not even if you were the last musician on Earth.”

Pidge, Shiro, and Hunk were already set up and prepared for the rest of their set by the time Keith and Lance arrived. Pidge and Shiro stared at Keith’s  _different_  guitar, eyes full of confusion, as Lance took the front of the stage and grabbed the microphone.

The dinnertime chatter of the restaurant patrons faded once he did, a hush unnatural for such a crowded place falling as Keith started playing.

He glanced at Pidge, noting her wide eyes when Lance brought the microphone to his mouth and sang:

 _“I can’t fight this feeling any longer,_  
And yet I’m still afraid to let it flow.  
What started out as friendship has grown stronger.  
I only wish I had the strength to let it show.”

“ _Keith_ ,” Shiro hissed from where he stood on the opposite side of the stage, guitar hanging loosely from his shoulders and neck. “ _Lance_.”

They ignored him as Lance plowed into the first chorus:

 _“And I can’t fight this feeling anymore._  
I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for.  
It’s time to bring this ship into the shore,  
And throw away the oars, forever…”

Keith grew impatient as the song wore on. He didn’t quite lose himself in the music like usual, too exasperated with Lance to really concentrate. He sang to the audience, while Pidge only waited, confusion gone in place of a long-suffering expression reminiscent of Shiro’s.

Keith exchanged a glance with Hunk as he played, but Hunk only shrugged.

Lance displayed all the right emotions while he sang, everything from near despair to fierce hope, but none of them were directed at the right person.

“ _Lance_ ,” Keith muttered, low enough that only Lance could hear him even under the music. “Look at  _her_ , not  _them_.”

Lance inhaled, pausing between verses, and finally turned to face Pidge where she stood behind her synthesizer, hands frozen over the keys at a loss of what to do during an unprecedented song. He flashed her a smile and continued:

 _“’Cause I can’t fight this feeling anymore._  
I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for,  
And if I have to crawl upon your floor,  
Come crashing through your door,  
Baby I can’t fight this feeling anymore.”

They finished to thunderous applause - more than they’d garnered all night thanks to the popularity of the song - but for once Lance didn’t so much as nod in the audience’s direction. Instead he only had eyes for Pidge, who stared at him incredulously.

Lance cleared his throat and turned back to the stage, already reaching for his bass on its stand. “And our next song is an original composition…”

Keith spent the next hour flinching every time an unfocused Pidge hit a clunker.

* * *

Pidge wasted no time once they stood in the backroom packing up their equipment. “Lance!” she shouted, bursting into the room behind Hunk. “What the hell was that for? We were only supposed to play original songs!”

Lance darted a glance at Shiro, who shrugged. “He doesn’t seem to have a problem with it,” he said.

“Really?” Pidge said. She crossed her arms and glared at him, then turned to Keith. “And  _you_  went along with it, without telling anyone else! Is that what you were doing all week?”

“Yes,” Keith admitted.

“I get that ‘Can’t Fight This Feeling’ is a crowd-pleaser,” Pidge grumbled, her eyes once more landing on Lance, “but it was important that our set be only our own songs.”

Keith coughed, attracting her attention again. “Well, uh, Pidge…”

“ _What?_ ”

“Lance wasn’t…singing to the audience.” He couldn’t help flashing a smirk at Lance as he gaped at him. “He was singing to…well, you.”

“Hey, Shiro, think you can help me load the van?” Hunk then said, shoving one of his drums at Shiro.

“Gladly,” said Shiro, and the two of them swept out of the backroom, leaving Keith alone in the midst of a tense scene.

Pidge didn’t seem to notice him though, only have eyes - wide and incredulous - for Lance. “You what?” she said disbelievingly.

“I sang for you,” Lance said. “Wasn’t it obvious?”

“I…” Pidge flushed and admitted, “Maybe…a little?”

“I really can’t fight this feeling anymore, Pidge,” Lance told her, softly.

Keith started to creep backwards towards the door, not wanting to be witness to a private moment, but he couldn’t help wanting to view - or hear - the fruits of his labor.

“Did you want to?” Pidge wondered, the stiffness in her shoulders obvious.

Lance shook his head and grinned at her, and to Keith’s relief she grinned back.

Lance took both of her hands in his. “You want to go out sometime, Pidge?”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Pidge responded, her grin turning impish, but before Lance could respond with more than a pout, she stood on her toes and kissed his cheek. “I’m done thinking about it.”

Lance smiled, looking happier than Keith had ever seen him, then glanced up and met his eyes with a nod. Keith help his thumb up and, with guitar in hand, went outside to tell Shiro and Hunk the good news.

And to contemplate what favor he’d demand of Lance in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~as of now (4 March) I am all caught up on cross posting tumblr prompts, _just so you know_~~


	63. Paranoia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a birthday prompt generator: Neighbors AU and jealousy
> 
> Modern AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171565720863/hi-for-the-birthday-prompt-generator-i-have)

Laughter and low voices traveled through the thin walls, and Lance didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, the sound of Pidge laughing, coupled with a memory of the sight, never ceased to fill him with warmth, but on the other…

She wasn’t laughing for - with, at - _him_.

“I don’t care that she’s probably got a man over,” Lance told Hunk without prompting. “Nope, do not care.”

Hunk lowered his magazine and narrowed his eyes at Lance from his spot across the room. “Why do you think it’s a man she’s got with her?”

Lance waved a hand dismissively, towards the wall between their apartment and their neighbor’s. “It’s simple, really,” he explained. “Who else would come over this late in the day?”

“It’s not even five,” Hunk mumbled, “and it could be a woman, you know.”

Lance stretched out on the sofa, crossing his ankles and staring up at the ceiling while he tried to ignore the ugly thing twisting around in his gut. “Great!” he said. “That just makes it easier to not care.”

“Right,” Hunk said, tone dry as he turned a page of his magazine. “I’ll engrave that on your tombstone: ‘I don’t care that my crush might be with someone else in the afterlife.’”

Lance raised his hand, holding up a finger. “First of all, I don’t care that Pidge is with someone else.” He scowled, turning his to glare at Hunk as he stuck up a second finger. “And I do not have a crush on Pidge.”

Hunk rolled his eyes but only hummed, ignoring Lance in favor of focusing on his magazine.

Lance rolled onto his side when Hunk stopped entertaining him, putting his back to the offending wall though the sounds from their neighboring apartment still filtered through. Laughing, conversation, long almost  _horrifying_  stretches of silence…

Lance bolted upright, flailing his arms and very nearly knocking over the glass of water on the coffee table. “Hunk,” he said, eyes wide, “what if her guest murders her?”

That got Hunk to rest his magazine in his lap. “Uh, I don’t understand your logic, Lance,” he said. “Can you please explain it to me?”

Lance gestured towards the wall again. “What if her guest, or date, or whatever - not that it  _matters_ , Hunk! - murders her?” he asked. Now his heart pounded in his chest, stirred up by agitation and the scenarios - each, the sliver of logic still sitting within him pointed out - unlikelier than the last. “He could’ve _seduced_  her into taking him back to her place, then when she lets her guard down, he…slips something into her drink. Except it’s not a roofie, because he’s already there so of course he thinks he’s going to get some; it’s  _poison_!”

Hunk blinked at him. “That’s strange even for you, Lance,” he said.

“No,  _think_  about it, Hunk!” Lance said, pounding a fist into the palm of his hand. “Okay, maybe _poison_  is a little lame; instead he’ll drug her and kidnap her, or carry her away and dismember her in some forest, or—” With each word he spoke, he grew more and more fearful, until he stood up and announced, “I’m going to check on her.”

“Paranoia really doesn’t suit you,” Hunk observed.

Lance pointedly ignored him as he opened the door and strolled out of the apartment and few paces down the hall until he stood outside Number Five. Briefly he wondered if maybe he should’ve grabbed one of Hunk’s kitchen knives, then eschewed it; he’d just meet this  _man_  that Pidge was  _entertaining_ , perhaps imply that she had someone watching out for funny business.

After knocking on Pidge’s door, he stepped back, crossing his arms and tapping his foot while he waited. When the door opened, light flooded out into the dim hallway, around a short figure that stared up at him with a question in her eyes.

“Lance?” she said. A slight smile - the kind that set Lance’s heart racing for a different reason - graced her lips, but it disappeared as she frowned and asked, “Did you need anything? Did our laundry get mixed up again?”

He shuffled his feet, remembering the last time that happened and he ended up with some _adorable_  green cats socks that didn’t fit him…among other things. But he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, and said, “Actually I wanted to check on you?” He stuffed his hands into his pocket, bouncing a bit on his feet, and added, “I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while, you know, busy with work and stuff as we are…”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “I saw you two days ago,” she said. “You went to pick up food while I was coming home from work.”

Lance snapped his fingers at her. “And we barely even chatted then,” he said, “so tell me, Pidge, how are you?”

“Fine,” she said, “great, wonderful,  _confused_.”

“What’s so confusing about wanting to know how my neighbor is doing?”

Pidge crossed her arms, staring up at him with wide eyes. “You’ve never stopped by here just to ask me  _how I am_ , Lance.”

“First time for everything?” Lance pointed out with a smile. Even just talking to her did something, soothed what nerves had been an anxious jumbled mess just moments earlier, and—

“Fine, well, I’d love to chat, Lance,” Pidge said, actually sounding regretful if her sigh was any indication, “but I have someone visiting me from out of state.”

Right on queue, someone from inside her apartment called out, “Who’s at the door?”

Pidge shot back over her shoulder, “It’s just my neighbor!”

“Which one?” wondered the guest. “Can I meet him?”

Pidge visibly stiffened, biting her lip, and said, “No, because he’s leaving!”

“Wait, Pidge!” Lance said, holding up a hand.

“Later, Lance,” Pidge said, and she all but slammed the door in his face.

He lingered for a few extra seconds, staring and frowning at the closed door. When moments ago he’d felt calm, even good, about talking to her, the fact that she was still in there, beyond his reach, with someone else…. _bothered_  him.

Lance groaned, rubbing his face once he sat on the sofa in his and Hunk’s living room again, and muttered, “Maybe I  _am_ jealous.”

Hunk patted his shoulder. “There, there,” he said. “Now, would you like me to brew you some celebratory Realization Tea, or do you want to wait until morning?”

Annoyed, Lance shoved Hunk, but he just laughed.

* * *

 

Pidge survived her guest, which would’ve been more of a relief if he’d ever managed to convince himself that he meant her harm in the first place. Still, when he encountered Pidge in the stairwell as they both headed out for work, he asked, “So who was that you had over on Saturday and why was it so important he not meet me?”

For some reason, Pidge’s cheeks turned red. She coughed into her fist and said, “Oh, that was just my brother.”

Lance’s eyes flew so wide he worried they’d pop out of his head. “Y-your  _brother_?”

Pidge glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Yeah,” she said. “Why would that surprise you?”

By now, they stood in their building’s first floor office, in front of the door. Lance’s hand rested on the door handle, but he froze as he sought an explanation that Pidge would find satisfactory and…unoffensive.

Instead, Lance lied, “It doesn’t surprise me.” He smiled sheepishly at her, and before she could question him he added, “And what would’ve been so bad about your brother meeting me?” He pressed a thumb into his chest. “I’m a delight! Family members adore me!”

“Sure they do,” Pidge said with a disbelieving snort.

Lance breathed a sigh of relief that she dropped the topic once they were outside and walking together to the bus stop.

Instead, she wondered, “Are you doing anything this Saturday?”

Lance blinked at her, surprised. “I don’t have plans yet,” he admitted. “Why do you ask?”

“My brother bought me  _Killbot Phantasm_  for my birthday,” Pidge told him with a cheerful grin. “I was wondering if you’d like to come over and play with me?”

Lance smiled, and, unable to help himself, threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him. When she didn’t pull away - unless he missed his guess, she  _leaned in_  - he said, “Oh, I would  _love_  to.”


	64. Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the birthday prompt generator: historical AU with inappropriate use of a 'plank'
> 
> 'Historical'/sailor/pirates AU, angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171586250968/april-24-for-the-prompts-your-plance-sailor-au)
> 
> Also, can be considered a sequel to [this previous prompt fill](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12573632/chapters/30056037) but you don't have to have read it to understand this one

Pidge struggled to stay calm as a man almost twice her height clapped irons over her wrists. Her heart pounded in her chest, the shackles nearly forcing her hands down, as her two crew mates received similar treatment.

“Come along now,” said the man - the  _pirate_ \- that held Pidge by the arm. He pulled her along, his grip strong enough that he’d leave bruises, and Pidge stepped fast to keep up with his pace.

Embarrassingly, where only one man was required to keep  _her_ under control, Lance and Hunk each stood between two, filing onto the ship and across the deck behind her. She heard Hunk grumbling under his breath, at least until he earned a smack to the head, and stiffened.

The ship was cleaner than she expected, the wood shining with a fresh wash, and the crew moved around with an air of military precision. Pirates though they were, their captain must appreciate organization.

Perhaps that would make him easier to bargain with, or so Pidge hoped.

The three of them were forced to kneel on the scrubbed deck, knees digging into hard wood. But their captors still kept a grip on them, and Pidge tried to keep her head up, to not let the shackles around her wrists weigh her down.

“If we die here,” Lance muttered to her, “I’m going to kill you.”

“That’s fair,” Pidge conceded with a nod. “I promise we won’t though.” She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, blinking when his met hers. “I just—”

“Quiet!” the pirate that captured her shouted, smacking her upside the head and knocking her off balance.

“Hey!” another pirate, shorter than all the rest, exclaimed as he darted towards them.

Pidge fell forward, landing with an elbows; the shock of the fall sent a shudder through her body. Her teeth clipped her lip, hard enough that the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, and she breathed heavily when she finally knelt upright again. “I’m fine,” she reassured Lance and Hunk, who stared at her worriedly, before her eyes flicked to the black-haired pirate that had protested her treatment. She smiled at him, right before spitting a mouthful of blood and saliva out onto the clean deck.

“Guess the captain will have you scrub the whole deck in shackles, boy,” said the first pirate, but to her relief he didn’t hit her again.

“Ew,” Hunk muttered.

Heavy footsteps then shook the deck, and another man, not quite as tall as Pidge’s captor but just as imposing wearing whiskers and an eyepatch, approached. He stood in front of them, his single eye swiveling from Hunk, to Lance, before landing on Pidge. “These are the thieves?”

“The very ones, Captain Sendak,” said the tallest pirate.

Pidge’s heart pounded as he passed the captain what she’d stolen right out of his pocket. She cursed herself for being sloppy, for forgetting all the tricks of sleight of hand her brother taught her and getting not only herself but Lance and Hunk as well captured.

Oh, how  _stupid_ she was, winding up on a pirate ship as a prisoner rather than a spy or tentative ally.

“It looks unharmed,” said Sendak, taking the scroll from his crew member. He unrolled the map and commented, “Not even any stray marks.”

“It was the smallest one who took it,” the other explained, pointing a finger into Pidge’s face. She glared at it, tempted to bite it, but he lowered his hand before she had the chance. “But the others were bystanders and didn’t stop her.”

Lance blinked, raising an eyebrow at them. “What makes you think we knew what he was doing?” he demanded.

Her eyes widened at his words. Was he—no, he was trying to talk  _their_ way out of this, not just  _his_. He wouldn’t abandon her to the pirates, he wouldn’t—

“Listen, gentlemen,” Lance said with a shrug, “sure, we’re friends—”

“Some  _friend_ ,” Pidge hissed.

“—but do I really want to get punished with someone who didn’t think about  _me_ when she committed her crime?” He smiled charmingly - or, Pidge  _supposed_ it would be charming if she didn’t want to wipe the smile from his face - up at the captain and his subordinate.

“She?” the crew mate asked, blinking.

A shiver traveled up Pidge’s spine as she fully processed Lance’s words, but she turned her head to glare at him, at least until she found her own panic mirrored on his face.

“No, I said ‘he’,” Lance quickly amended with a nervous laugh. “ _He_ ’s our ship’s cabin boy, and sure, he gets into trouble sometimes - once he jumped after  _sirens_  - but he’s—”

“Haxus,” Captain Sendak interrupted, “take them to the brig and separate them. If he’s right and the  _small one_ is the chief culprit, I’ll want to question  _her_ more closely about why she stole this map once we’re at sea.”

“Yes, sir,” said the tall pirate, Haxus. An arm crossed over his chest as the captain swept away, and he and a few other crewmates turned to them.

“Oh, quiznak,” Pidge said.

“Pidge—”

Haxus pulled Lance up by an arm, interrupting him before he could make any apology. He pushed him towards a crew mate, who took him away. Hunk followed right after with another, but Pidge was forced to linger.

She ignored the eyes of the shortest, black-haired pirate on her, only staring at Haxus, who leveled a glare at her. Despite including  _both_ eyes, it couldn’t compare to Sendak’s glower. But fear at what fate awaited her - for stealing an important map, for being a  _girl_ \- traveled up her spine as she met Haxus’ eyes.

“You’re just a child,” Haxus observed.

“Cabin boys usually are,” Pidge pointed out.

Haxus raised his hand, but before Pidge could do much more than flinch, he lowered it. “I’ll leave you to the captain then,” he said. He forced her to her feet, and without waiting for her to regain her balance, tugged her away after Lance and Hunk.

* * *

Pidge sat somewhere deep in the bowels of the ship, deep enough that the only light that reached here was that spilling from the hatch leading back up to the crews’ quarters. The ship was well underway, the motion making her rock around even when she lay down on the floor,  _much_ less clean than that on the deck above.

The creaking of the ship kept her from dozing off, along with Lance’s and Hunk’s distant voices.

 _They’d_ been put in the same cell, those lucky assholes.

She imagined the conversation they’d be having, probably about Hunk’s stomach; it always took him over an hour to recover from a launch, which made her wonder why he chose to be a sailor at all.

She mulled through Lance’s words to the captain - did he  _really_ try to throw her to the sharks just to save his own skin? Pidge rolled onto her side, the thought sitting awfully in her gut, but recalling that their capture  _was_ entirely her fault tempered some of her fear with shame.

But she glimpsed the face of the map, the words inscribed on it in a language she recognized only from her father’s journals, and she  _had_ to have it. It was only rotten luck and poor timing that Haxus caught her before she could even stick her hand into his coat pocket.

Pidge covered her face with her arm and groaned. Her lip throbbed from where she bit it earlier, a matching ache on the back of her head, but the awful stench of the brig distracted her from the pain even when she pressed her sleeve over her nose.

Her pains and discomfort had to wait though. Now she needed to think of a way to get herself and her crew mates out of this, preferably without any of them drowning. So she sat up, leaning against the wall closest to the cell occupied by Lance and Hunk.

“Hunk!” she called out. “How are you doing?”

After a long pause and a few furious whispers, Hunk replied, “Oh, well, you know, pirates aren’t as smooth at sailing as navy ships!”

Pidge chuckled, amused despite the situation, but then she swallowed and said, “How’s Lance?”

“He’s—”

“ _Lance_ can speak for himself, thank you,” Lance cut in irritably. Pidge could imagine him either nudging Hunk out of the way or clapping a hand over his mouth. “So…explain what the hell you were thinking with that map, Pidge!”

“Only if you explain what you were doing giving me up like that!” Pidge retorted, hackles rising. She crossed her arms, or tried to as the shackles she still wore interfered, iron chain links clanking.

“That wasn’t my intention!” Lance yelled. “I was  _trying_ to talk our way out of this!”

“By telling them that  _you_ were innocent?” Pidge said, snorting disbelievingly. “Right, of course, that would’ve worked so well for  _me_.”

“Pidge, Lance—”

“We wouldn’t  _be_ here if it wasn’t for you!” Lance cut Hunk off.

“Then maybe—”

A door slamming shut interrupted them, and Pidge stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps. Her anger at Lance dissipated, and then Haxus stood in front of her cell, a ring of keys in one hand as he glared down at her.

“Why are you talking?” he demanded.

“We were fighting,” Pidge said.

“Well, you’re not to talk to your fellows,” Haxus said. “Now stand up. We’re going to see the captain.”

“Wait, what about us?” Lance asked from deeper into the brig. “We all—”

Haxus marched off and rattled the bars on Lance’s and Hunk’s shared cell. “You don’t get to absolve yourself of the girl’s guilt only to attach it to yourself later,” he told them. “But don’t worry, the captain may still have use for you.”

Pidge’s heart pounded so wildly she feared it would shoot out of her chest when Haxus returned and unlocked her cell. He grabbed her upper arm and pulled her upright, dragging her behind him and up the stairs. The futility of struggling against a man so much bigger and stronger than her made it difficult to consider escape, never mind that they were already several hours out to sea.

Haxus led her down a narrow hallway, far cleaner than the brig, to a low door of polished wood. He rapped on it, and when Captain Sendak bid them to come in, he opened the door and pushed Pidge inside ahead of him.

Though clean, the captain’s cabin was sparse in furnishings, more  _military_ than Pidge would’ve expected of a pirate. A simple cot bolted to a wall with a desk on the opposite side of the room, a covered oil lamp on the surface and a chair across, which Haxus practically shoved Pidge into.

Pidge bit her lip, almost more irritated with the manhandling than she was frightened of the situation. The irons shackling her wrists sat heavily in her lap as she met Captain Sendak’s one eye.

At least until a scroll of yellowed paper stretched out on the desk caught her eye.

“What is your name, cabin  _girl_?” Sendak demanded, drawing Pidge’s attention back to her face.

She scowled at him. “My real name?”

“The name you go by aboard your ship.”

“Pidge,” she told them, seeing no harm and telling  _this_ truth.

“And what ship did you serve aboard?” he wondered, propping his elbows on the desk and concealing the map with his arms.

She frowned, narrowing her eyes as if that would help her see the map through him, but said, “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“Well, as I am your captor—”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s Haxus here,” Pidge pointed out, nodding towards the other pirate.

Sendak scowled at her. “And I am his captain, so it is in  _your_ best interest to answer  _all_ my questions whether you deem them relevant or not.”

Pidge smirked, the better to hide the anxiety making her blood rush in her ears. “You sound awfully educated for a pirate,” she observed. “To be fair, I’ve never met a pirate before today.” 

Sendak tapped his fingers against his desk. “What was the name of your ship?”

“I don’t have a ship,” Pidge told him.

“Are you not a cabin boy?”

“A cabin  _girl_ , actually.”

“If you insist on being difficult,” Sendak said with a glare, “I will have to revise my  _technique_.”

Pidge blinked innocently at him. “Technique?”

Sendak smiled, but rather than reassure her the sight of it sent a shiver down her spine. “Put simply, your obstinacy in answering my questions do you no favors,  _Pidge_.”

Pidge swallowed, appraising him, though between Haxus’ firm hand upon her shoulder and Sendak’s snarly smile, she more than believed them. She rattled her shackles, gaze flitting about the cabin and half-hoping to find some opportunity for escape around, then looked back to Sendak.

“I served aboard the  _HMS Galaxy_ ,” she told him, “in the Arusian Navy. It’s not a battleship though, just a trade ship escort since…well, pirates.”

Sendak hummed approvingly. “And you sneaked in as a girl because…?”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “Oh, that I’m not telling you.”

“Girl, do you want to know what I can and  _will_ do if you refuse to answer my questions?”

“Tear off my fingernails one at a time?” Pidge said, and despite her feigned nonchalance the prospect did  _not_ cheer her.

“No, we may be pirates, at least by Arusian and Altean standards, but we’re not barbarians.”

“What’s the difference?” Pidge spat. “It’s  _your_ fault I’m here—wait, did you say  _Altea_?” She stared at him, wide-eyed, until her gaze once more traveled down to the half-hidden map.

Sendak spread his fingers over the paper. “Oh, you have an interest in the map beyond a passing curiosity?” He sneered. “You’ve told me enough for now; Haxus, return her to her cell.”

Haxus once more wrapped a large hand around Pidge’s arm, and though she struggled against him this time, wanting that damn  _map_ , oh so desperately wanting the answers it would provide, the fight quickly proved futile. Heat pricked at her eyes by the time Haxus tossed and locked her in her cell in the brig, and frustrated tears dripped past her pinched eyelids. She wiped her eyes with dirty hands, sniffing, and curled up into a ball.

“Pidge?” Lance’s voice called from his cell. “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

Maybe, before capture, a part of her would’ve been elated to hear how worried for her he sounded, but now dread sank into her stomach, and though she’d glimpsed the map, she could feel her family drawing further away from her by the second.

“Pidge?” Hunk said. “What happened?”

“Please talk to us,” Lance added. “I’m sorry I said what I did on deck; I’m sorry, just…tell us you’re fine.”

Pidge sighed, and after making sure her voice wouldn’t tremble, she cleared her throat and promised, “I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t consider it a lie, even if it would take time and effort to come true.

* * *

 

Pidge slept fitfully on the hard cell floor, the motion of the ship on the waves rocking her into an uneasy doze disturbed by memories. When she closed her eyes, she discovered her father’s secret journals all over again, covered in a script she hadn’t a prayer of recognizing; she heard a man from the navy stop at their house and speak to her mother. Her mother’s sobs as she cried herself to sleep that night filled her head, but Pidge -  _Katie_ \- lay awake, a risky plan taking root in her head.

The rumbling of her stomach woke her, and for a moment Pidge stared up at the grimy ceiling, wondering why it wasn’t that of her bedroom in her parents’ house. When she turned her head, she found no stale glass of water standing on the bedside table, no dolls or sunlight slipping through thin white curtains. Instead rough wood made up her surroundings, and it all came back to Pidge in a rush.

Pidge sat up slowly, reaching with some difficulty to rub her head. She yawned, groggy, and slid towards the cell door to attempt to peer out. “Lance?” she called. “Hunk?”

“Pidge!” Lance said. “How are you? You really had us worried yesterday, after—after you came back.”

Pidge sighed and said, “They didn’t torture me if that’s what you wondered about.”  _Yet,_ she added to herself.

“What did they want from you?” Hunk asked. “And what’s so special about that map?”

She stiffened and rubbed her face. Perhaps she  _did_ owe them an explanation, but now…well, Haxus or another pirate could walk down into the brig any minute.

Rather than answering, Pidge said, “I swear I’ll tell you everything as soon as we get out of this.”

“And how do we do that?” Lance said.

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. “I don’t fancy escaping on an empty stomach.”

Lance snorted, and even Pidge couldn’t help a giggle at Hunk’s words.

As if summoned, the short pirate entered the brig, surprisingly light footsteps still echoing through the small space. He stuffed a small tray beneath Pidge’s cell door, face impassive, but before Pidge could summon the wherewithal to question him about his reaction to her the previous day, he left, only pausing again in front of Lance’s and Hunk’s cell.

Pidge frowned after him but pulled the tray towards her, and though the fare looked simple and plain - a bowl of oatmeal and a packet of stale crackers - she ate them without complaint.

“It’s hard to hate travel rations when you’re hungry,” Hunk pointed out.

Lance laughed and said, “Sorry, but you can’t have mine.”

“I wasn’t asking for them,” Hunk retorted.

“Then why did you…”

Pidge tuned out the sound of their friendly bickering, though it still brought a slight smile to her lips. It was familiar, almost  _normal_  despite the setting. But the prospect of what that day might bring still turned the crackers to ash in her mouth, and she called out, “If I was any closer, Hunk, I’d give you my food.”

“See?” Hunk said to Lance. “At least someone else respects my appetite.”

Lance, however, ignored him. “Pidge, what  _did_ happen with the captain?”

Pidge sighed, pushing the half-empty tray away from her. “He just questioned me,” she said. “He’ll probably question me again; I told him more than I meant to, but not as much as he wants.”

Silence - she could imagine them exchanging a glance - then Hunk said, “Oh, well, why don’t you tell him what he wants?”

“Why would she do that?” Lance asked.

“To avoid getting  _tortured_ , maybe?” Hunk posed.

“Oh, yeah, that would make sense.”

Pidge rolled her eyes, though neither would be able to see her, and said, “I don’t think I can. It might…make things worse.”

“How so?” Hunk said.

Pidge shifted, rattling the chain still connecting her wrists and contemplating the bruises that must now decorate them underneath the cuffs. “Talking might endanger…some people I love.”

“Oh, then…I’m sorry, Pidge,” Lance said.

She bit her lip. “It’ll be fine,” she told them. “There’s not much I can tell the captain anyway.” She laughed, though she scarcely felt amused. “He probably knows more than I do anyway.”

“Is that so?”

Pidge flinched, staring up at Haxus, who’d appeared while they were talking without her noticing.

“So the prospect of torture doesn’t frighten you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Do your worst,” she challenged, despite the fear making her heart race.

“If we must,” Haxus said. “Captain Sendak summons you to the deck,  _all_ of you.”

“What?” Pidge demanded, her eyes widening. “Why?”

“This conversation I’ve overheard has me convinced that the captain’s  _original_ plan may prove ineffectual,” Haxus explained, “and I’m sure he’ll agree.”

Pidge stood and watched a couple other pirates dragging Lance and Hunk past her cell and up the stairs. They tried to struggle, both grumbling about being manhandled, but their voices faded the further away from her they were taken. Then she was left with Haxus.

Pidge glared up at him,  _hating_ him; she was  _sick_ of being frightened, worried about what would become of her and her friends aboard a pirate ship, and one way or another it would end today. “What does Sendak want with  _them_?” she asked. “They’re clueless, and this is  _my_ fault.”

“Of that there is little doubt,” Haxus agreed, “but I suspect they might be used to persuade you.”

Her eyes widened at the implication in his words, but she refused to read into it without seeing proof for herself.

Haxus opened her cell door and grabbed her as roughly as before, tugging her up onto the deck. Pidge blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sudden sunlight, the sky perfectly clear, and she inhaled the inviting salty ocean breeze, a welcome relief from the scent of refuse in the dirty brig.

Any relief she might’ve felt vanished when her gaze landed on Hunk and Lance, both blindfolded and standing on the edge of the deck with no railing between them and a long fall into the sea. Their hands were still bound in irons, their backs to the water, and two pirates held pistols to their heads.

One of the pirates - the short one with black hair - met Pidge’s eyes, the end of his gun lowering slightly so that it was pointed at Lance’s shoulder rather than his head.

It hardly reassured Pidge; her heart still pounded wildly in her chest, eyes growing wide at the sound of a gun being cocked followed by something cool and metallic pressed to her own temple.

Pidge swallowed around the lump in her throat. “You had questions, Captain?” she asked.

“I see you’re catching on, girl,” said Captain Sendak from behind her, his voice so close to her ear that it sent a fearful shiver up her spine. “Now tell me:  why did you wish to steal the map?”

Pidge glanced from Lance to Hunk, saw them both grimace, and said, “If I tell you—”

“Don’t do it, Pidge!” Lance said, earning himself a whack to the head from a pistol handle.

Pidge flinched but glared at Haxus from the corner of her eye. “Why don’t you—”

“Captain!” someone called from the crow’s nest, interrupting Pidge. “There’s a small ship ahead, on the port side!”

Pidge pinched her eyes shut, counting her blessings when Sendak withdrew the pistol from her head and stomped away to confer with some other crew members. She cracked her eyes open and exhaled in relief when the two pirates holding Lance and Hunk hostage also lowered their guns.

Her mind raced, searching out their options. Maybe, if Sendak decided to engage the sighted ship, she and her friends could steal a lifeboat in the ensuing chaos…

_And then what?_

They weren’t that far out to sea; it would only take them a few days rowing, and perhaps if they stole some rations on their way out—

“Men!” Captain Sendak called. “It’s an Altean vessel; we attack!”

 _Altean?_ Pidge gaped as the pirates surrounding them raised their arms and cheered. Their attention diverted, they scrambled into whatever protocol they followed, but before she could react, the ship turned suddenly, changing direction and pursuing the other ship.

Pidge fell, losing her balance and landing on her hands and knees. She looked up, watching as Lance and Hunk struggled to stay upright and move away from the edge.

Lance gasped as his foot slipped over, and Pidge uselessly stretched her arms out and yelled, “Lance!”

A lingering pirate grabbed Lance by the arm and tugged him to safety, away from the edge. Pidge crawled over to him as the pirate turned his attention to a doubled over and likely nauseous Hunk. “Are you all right?” she demanded, pushing the blindfold over his head.

Lance caught her hands in his, iron chains clinking together unpleasantly, but a rush of warmth heated her face. “Better than I was,” he told her with a slight smile. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening when they landed on Hunk, and shouted, “Hey, get away from him!”

The pirate helping Hunk jumped, his head snapping around to stare at Lance. “Why?” he asked. “I’m helping him.” He held up a familiar ring of keys, and Hunk rubbed his wrists - his  _unchained_ wrists - and grimaced.

“Ah, sweet freedom,” he said. “Thank you, but…why?”

“No time to explain,” said the pirate, who next approached Pidge. She reluctantly - and curse  _that_ \- let go of Lance’s hands, holding her wrists out to the pirate. He inserted the key into the cuff, and after turning them the shackles fell to the deck with a rattle.

Pidge sighed in relief, now unburdened by their weight, and stood. She could already hear the sounds of battle on the other side of the ship, as pirates boarded their enemy.

But not  _hers_.

“That ship is our chance,” Pidge realized. She looked at the pirate assisting them, eyes flitting between him and Lance, now freed of his own shackles. “We need to take the map first though.”

“I still don’t understand what’s so important about that map,” Lance said.

“I already have it,” the pirate admitted. He opened his coat, revealing the end of a scroll nestled safely inside a pocket.

“Who are you?” Pidge demanded.

“And why should we trust you?” said Lance.

“He did just save our lives,” Hunk pointed out pragmatically.

“Keith,” said the pirate, “and I’m your way off this ship and towards that one, but we  _have_ to hurry.”

Pidge, resolve filling her, nodded. Despite the turn their situation now took, it wasn’t as bleak as it had seemed when she first saw Lance and Hunk poised at the edge of a ship’s deck, shackled at the wrist and threatened with drowning. So though she didn’t know this Keith, she would trust him, and looking at Lance and Hunk, they would too.

Lance looked less than pleased about though.

“Follow me,” said Keith, leading the way towards the hatch. “We’ll take a lifeboat and sneak—”

The shot of a pistol interrupted him, and Pidge, startled, jumped backwards into Hunk. “What—”

Haxus emerged into view, pistol in hand and pointed at her. “You think you can get away so easily, girl?” he demanded.

“Hey!” Keith said, pointing his own gun at Haxus.

Haxus shot towards him, wrestling it from his grip too easily, and threw it aside. “I always thought you might double cross us,” he told Keith. “I’m sorry to see that I was right. Now  _you_ …” He marched towards Pidge, who stepped back, further towards the edge, blood rushing past her ears.

“Pidge—!”

Pidge leaned down, grabbing for a discarded pair of shackles. She shoved Lance away from her as he attempted to shield her, hatred for Haxus making her blood run hot. She dodged an errant shot from him - his aim was unfocused, consumed by his own anger - then darted around him. He turned, swiping at her with a knife, but Pidge kicked out at him with all her strength.

Her foot connected with his knee, and he buckled, his balance lost as he leaned over the side. His hands flailed out, but before Pidge could dodge him he grabbed her by the shirt.

Pidge gasped, the collar cutting into her skin, and suddenly she felt nothing beneath her, her hands only swiping at air. Haxus yelled on his way down, and Pidge barely heard the splash for her own panicked heartbeat as she flailed, as if frozen.

A strong arm shot out, fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist, and Pidge’s feet found purchase on the ship’s deck. She stumbled forward, directly into Lance, and clutched at him, trembling with the shock.

“You’re fine,” he told her, voice low as he held her just as tightly. “We’re all fine.”

“We won’t be if we don’t hurry,” Keith said, interrupting them. He swiped something from the ground and tossed it, Lance reflexively catching it as it flew towards him, and Pidge saw it was Haxus’ gun, dropped in their struggle.

Keith had recovered his own gun and sprinted towards the hatch, the rest of them keeping pace with him.

They descended into the ship, leaving the open deck and the fight behind - Pidge wondering how a small vessel could hold back militaristic pirates for so long - in favor of locating a lifeboat. They found one towards the bow, and Keith nodded at it.

Hunk and Pidge clambered in first while Keith and Lance cranked it down until the bottom touched the water, the pulley’s wheels creaking and the boat shaking in a breeze. Once the rope connecting the boat to the ship had slack, Lance jumped in, landing hard enough to rock the boat, and Keith followed, nearly capsizing them.

“Hey!” Hunk said as he took one of the oars. “Ease up on the rocking!”

“Sorry,” Keith muttered. He cut them free of the ship.

Lance took the other oar, and Keith sat at the bow, directing them towards the small vessel.

Its sails glittered an almost pristine white in the sun, even as it fought off the pirates, and when Pidge looked closer, inspecting its elegant, sleek design, she realized it could’ve escaped the pirate ship easily.

“Why did they engage?” she asked.

“What?” Lance said without pausing in his rowing.

“That ship could’ve evaded the pirates,” Pidge said, “but it  _engaged_.”

Hunk frowned at her, then glanced over his shoulder at Keith. “What’s going on, Keith?”

“What do you know?” Pidge wondered.

Keith frowned, tilting his head towards the approaching hull of the Altean ship. “I stole this map for the owner of that ship,” he said, tapping the side of his coat, “so I think Princess Allura would explain better than me.”

Pidge gaped at him, and when the lifeboat finally reached the hull of the other ship, something like realization set in, and she said, “I’m getting closer.”

“Getting closer to what?” Lance asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge smiled widely as a line dropped from the deck of the ship and someone else - someone  _familiar_ \- shouted a greeting down to them. “I’m getting closer to my family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me and my bad habit of including cliffhangers...


	65. Another Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the birthday prompt generator: 'canon divergent' AU with 'reunion'
> 
> Reincarnation AU, angst with bits of fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171620039433/oct-23)

Lance recognizes Shiro the moment he hears his name.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, struggling through matrix multiplication while his older sister gnashes her teeth in frustration. “And the determinant is…five?” he asks, glancing over at her.

Veronica scowls, snatching the pencil from his hand and pulling his notebook towards her. “Look, it’s not that hard, Lance.” She scrawls the problem on the page, walking him through each step.

Lance tries to focus, but math doesn’t come naturally to him, so it can’t hold his attention like other subjects do. Instead, he tunes Veronica’s pointers out, the distant hum of the TV coming into focus instead.

“…making Takashi Shirogane the youngest pilot on a distant space mission in  _history_!” the news anchor says.

Lance blinks, unsure about the  _prickle_ of familiarity that strikes him. The name  _Takashi Shirogane_ rings through his mind, and though he  _knows_ he’s never heard it before, a distinct face follows, that of a broad-shouldered man with black-and-white hair and a kind smile.

Just like that, Lance loses all interest in algebra, letting his sister do his homework for him like she usually does if he frustrates her enough. But later, he retreats to his bedroom with the communal laptop and does some digging:

_Lieutenant Takashi Shirogane, new graduate from the Galaxy Garrison, was selected as the pilot for the mission to Pluto’s moon Kerberos in two years’ time._

Lance stops reading; he’s not sure why he’s smiling, not when the man in the articles accompanying photograph is too fresh-faced to be the strange man in his memory. But his old dreams of space travel and piloting return, and the low marks in math and science on his report cards don’t matter anymore.

The next afternoon, Lance brings his homework to his sister without his mother’s prompting, and he grins when she stares up at him in surprise.

* * *

He and Hunk take to each other immediately, which makes Lance wonder if Hunk senses that same strange  _connection_ as he does. It’s all too easy to fall into a routine in their shared room, and their disagreements are infrequent. Hunk even helps Lance with his homework, even tells Lance without prompting that there’s nothing wrong with being on the cargo pilot track.

(”But what am I going to tell my mother when I can’t advance by the end of the year?”

“Call it my gut, but I have a feeling it’ll work out.”

“Just like your gut had a  _feeling_ and you got food poisoning eating the commissary’s lasagna?”

“Oh, very funny, Lance.”)

But Lance still can’t shake the feeling that he and Hunk met somewhere - some _time_ \- before the Garrison.

It doesn’t really click until a night he convinces Hunk to sneak into a bar with him. They flash fake IDs, Hunk an anxious mess who nevertheless can pass as an adult over twenty-one thanks to his bulk, and wander inside.

Hunk has only one drink, but Lance, still reeling from Keith’s expulsion, overindulges and winds up drunk for the first time in his life. He clings to Hunk’s arm, more sentimental and  _bubbly_ than usual - or so Hunk will tell him later - and rambles.

“I feel like I’ve known you for my entire life, man,” Lance tells him. He stares at Hunk’s earlobe and, finding it fascinating, pokes at it. “Or, no, not my entire life, because that would be  _stupid_.”

“Ha, well, me too,” Hunk agrees with a smile, though he twitches and bats Lance’s hand away from his face.

“No, you don’t understand, Hunk,” Lance reiterates, fisting a hand in his sleeve. “I’ve known you for  _longer_ than my entire life, or that’s how it seems.” He meets Hunk’s eyes, and in his intoxication the severity of his words don’t register.

Hunk stares back, jaw dropping slightly. “That’s an…interesting way to put it,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Lance smiles, pleased with the interested response he’s getting. Maybe if he was sober, he’d worry about sounding  _crazy_ , about speaking of a recognition in Hunk that he doesn’t even have for his own mother. “What about…how did we meet again?”

“We met because we’re roommates at the Garrison,” Hunk replies with more patience than Lance probably deserves.

Lance giggles. “No, that’s how we met  _here_ , Hunk,” he says with a playful and sloppy punch to his shoulder. “I mean how did we meet the  _first_ time?”

“We met…oh.” Hunk frowns and stares at his empty glass, then at the half-full pint of beer and the single shot in front of Lance. He pushes them aside and says, “I think you’ve had enough for one night, Lance.”

“Yeah, well, if you drink more maybe you’ll  _remember_ , huh?” Lance pokes Hunk in the side, pleased to see he’s as ticklish as he recalls when he flinches, a fleeting smile on his lips. “I remember… _so much_ right now! Wow, I didn’t know one person could have so many memories…” He trails off, lost in thoughts, of battles and fights and struggles too innumerable to count, along with a face, a very  _important_ face, one that makes his chest ache in a way it never has before.

_At least not in this life._

Lance’s mood drops, so suddenly he thinks he’ll never be happy again. He drops his forehead against the bar and mutters, “But where’s Katie?”

“Who?” Hunk asks.

Lance shoots up and grabs Hunk’s shoulders, shaking him. “Katie!” he says. “Don’t you remember her?”

Hunk shakes his head, his eyes wide and, even to Lance’s alcohol-muddled mind,  _worried_. “I don’t, Lance,” he says, but then he sighs and admits, “Well, it  _sounds_ familiar, but that’s such a common name that…” He pats Lance’s hand. “Let’s get back to the dorms.”

Lance’s goes along willingly, too distracted by loose threads of thought that end before he can follow them to the next.  _Shiro, Hunk, Keith, Katie…_ They’re all important, in a way he can’t begin to explain, least of all while drunk, but a part of him knows that as soon as he sobers up, the thoughts - the  _memories_ \- will vanish almost as if they never were.

Except for that… _sense_ , that same  _recognition_ he felt when he heard the name  _Takashi Shirogane_ , when he shook Hunk’s hand, when he saw Keith’s face.

The journey back onto Garrison premises is a blur, and somehow, they don’t get caught. Silence sits heavily between them, Lance too consumed and Hunk picking up his slack in avoiding detection. But once they’re back in their room, Lance collapses face-first onto his bed and says, “You’re my best friend, Hunk. You always were.”

“You’re mine too, Lance,” Hunk says, “but I don’t think we should do this again.”

Lance hugs his pillow to his chest, closing his eyes and nodding into the sheets. His limbs weigh him down, making him unwilling to even exchange his jeans for pajama pants, and Hunk’s distance  _hurts_.

They never talk about that night again.

* * *

Keith is a different story, and one that Lance is sure he’s read before.

Top of the class, someone to whom piloting comes as easily as breathing, and despite their instructors’ praise, he lets it fly over him, as if it has no effect, as if he’s too _good_ for it.

Lance grips his pen tighter, hard enough he can imagine snapping it in half and squirting blue ink all over his cadet uniform. A complex tangle of emotions always rises within him whenever he catches sight of Keith, and he can never tell if he wants to break his jaw or pull him into a hug. Both temptations are strong, and neither really makes sense.

Sure, he dislikes Keith, covets the place he has within the Garrison, how effortlessly he rises to the top of the rankings, but he doesn’t want to  _fight_ him, and he certainly doesn’t want to show him affection.

(Absurdly, he wonders if Hunk also senses that strange kinship, but something stops him from asking.)

At first, that  _touch_ of familiarity drives him to attempt to befriend Keith, because it’s so much - yet so  _different_ \- from what he first felt towards Hunk that he can’t help but be drawn in. But Keith shows no interest in befriending  _him_ , so Lance gives up.

Maybe Keith is too  _good_ for him too.

Lance can’t bring himself to be surprised when he hears that Keith was expelled from the Garrison, but he smiles and celebrates when he spots his own name on the list of fighter pilots a few days later.

(It still feels wrong, somehow.)

* * *

There’s something familiar about Pidge, about his face and his slight smile and even the way he dismisses them so thoroughly, but Lance knows he’s never heard that name in his life.

There’s just something about Pidge that makes it hurt when he resists Lance’s attempts to draw him into conversation, when he tunes out his teasing and declines invitations to hang out. Of course, Lance always found it easy to make friends, though most were shallow relationships that he could easily let go of when he started at the Garrison, but he  _had_ been brushed off before.

But when Pidge does it, when he mumbles something about having homework and not having the time to sneak into town with him and Hunk, Lance’s chest aches, heart heavy with disappointment.

“You look like someone just told you your dog died,” Hunk observes once after they successfully sneak out - without Pidge.

Lance stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets and shrugs. “I’m fine,” he tells Hunk, flashing him a smile he doesn’t quite feel.

“Is this just because Pidge won’t come out with us?” Hunk asks. When Lance doesn’t answer, he says, “Just give him some time! He’ll come around.”

“How do you know?” Lance says.

“He always does, doesn’t he?” Hunk says with a sideways glance.

Lance stares at him, surprised by the ring of truth in his words, but says, “What does that even mean?”

Hunk blinks, but then his eyes go round, as if he never meant to say what he did. “It just means that I…think he’ll come to us when he’s ready,” he says with a nervous smile, clasping his hands together.

Lance has the impression that Hunk isn’t being entirely honest with him, but he accepts his words anyway in favor of complaining, “We’re supposed to be bonding as a team, but Pidge doesn’t seem to care about that!” He makes a wide sweeping gesture with his hands and slumps. “How are we going to improve our simulation scores if one of our teammates won’t even talk to us outside of class?”

Hunk claps him on the shoulder. “I don’t know, Lance,” he admits, sounding worried himself, “but I have a feeling that Pidge is dealing with a lot more than we think.”

Lance snorts but doesn’t press his point, wanting to believe Hunk despite his hurt.

“You seem to care about it more than it being for a grade though,” Hunk observes.

“Do I?” Lance says, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Hunk nods and says, “Yeah, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you have a crush on Pidge.”

Lance trips over a loose stone, and the only thing that stops him from falling on his face is Hunk’s hand shooting out to catch his arm.

* * *

The sight of Shiro, not dead after all, strapped to an operating table makes Lance’s breath catch in his throat. There it is, the familiar white forelock, the scar across the bridge of his nose, and…the missing arm.

Only now a prosthetic replaces it.

It’s a strange thought, but the sight of the prosthetic somehow seems  _wrong_.

Lance glances at Hunk, his eyes widening when he spots a shell-shocked face nearly identical to his own. Hunk’s gaze flicks up to meet his, but before he can ask  _if he senses it too_ , Pidge decides they’ll need to free Shiro.

The situation is eerie, makes the hair on the back of Lance’s neck stand on end, and it only gets stranger when light and sound explode from the desert, smoke billowing into the sky. Lance presses Pidge’s binoculars to his face, inspecting the direction of the explosion, and when he sees Keith he shoots up.

They  _have_ to get Shiro now.

Luckily Pidge and Hunk - if reluctantly - agree.

* * *

Lance sleeps fitfully in Keith’s shack, partly because the only thing between his back and the floor is a thin blanket, and partly because he can  _feel_ four other minds buzzing within this small space. And from the sound of the others’ breathing, Lance isn’t the only one struggling to fall asleep.

He eventually slips into a doze, snatches of dreams playing through his mind. They’re of scenes he doesn’t recognize from  _now_ , of cities he’s never visited and views he’s never witnessed. Faces dance in and out, but some linger, indistinct; as they resolve themselves, Lance recognizes them.

There’s Shiro, his teacher once, a brother-in-arms more often, and always his mentor; Keith is always with him, or so it seems, and Lance knows he can call him a friend. Hunk smiles warmly, except during a flicker of danger, whether it’s a gun or a blade held to his throat. And there’s Pidge - no, there’s  _Katie_ , balancing an open book in one hand and spinning a pen between her fingers in the other. She glances up from her reading and meets Lance’s eyes, and a smile he’d never seen her wear - yet one she’d smiled, just for him, countless times - graced her lips.

Her mouth moves, but Lance can’t hear the words as the sparse background details fade. His heart skips a beat, alarmed, and he extends a hand out to Katie. She only stares at it, uncomprehending, and Lance tries to shout for her.

Darkness swallows her first, and Lance bolts upright, dizzy and gasping for breath. He lies back down once he catches it, staring around and heart pounding as he remembers that he’s not in his own bed in the Garrison dorms.

No light peeks in through the curtains over the shack’s single window, so Lance turns onto his side and closes his eyes again.

He passes the rest of the time until morning trying to remember the name that almost escaped his lips.

* * *

“I had some weird dreams last night,” Hunk says as they’re trekking through the desert.

“What about?” Lance asks.

“I don’t know,” Hunk admits without taking his eyes off the path in front of them. “I just remember it was…weird. I think you were there.”

“Aw, Hunk,” Lance says with a grin, elbowing him in the side, “I’m honored to star in your dream.”

“I never said you  _starred_ in it.” Hunk rolls his eyes.

“Well, since we’re talking about dreams…” Lance makes sure Shiro, Keith, and Pidge are a little ahead of him, then lowers his voice and says, “I had some strange ones too. You, Shiro, and Keith were there.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow at him. “Pidge wasn’t?”

Lance opens his mouth to deny it, then closes it again. “I…don’t think so?” he says, Hunk’s question making him second-guess his memory. “She could’ve been though, since I don’t remember much else.” He shrugs, trying to make it look like he was unbothered, though…

Well, he hasn’t been able to look Pidge in the eye all day; the worst part is that he can’t even  _begin_ to explain why.

They enter the cave with the paintings around noon, after several hours of walking. Lance mourns his lack of a water bottle, at least until the paintings glow as soon as he rests a hand on one, and the ensuing landslide distracts him from a mere physical discomfort.

The Blue Lion is even more diverting.

A low rumble echoes through his mind, and no matter which direction Lance weaves yellow eyes track his movement. The fact that no one else can sense it isn’t comforting at all…

…at least until the sphere around the Lion descends, and an  _alien_ voice sounds in his mind.

Lance sits in the chair inside the Lion as soon as he recognizes the room as a cockpit. He can’t help the smugness, the excitement, the  _impatience_ \- all of which may not be entirely his own. But he freezes as soon as he rests his hands on the controls, and—

_The sounds of battle wash over him, of gunfire and the grunting of hardworking men and the screams and groans of the dying. Lance leans against the wall of the trench, Hunk and Keith on either side of him, his rifle loose in his sweat-damp grip._

_“This is rotten,” Keith observes._

_“Yeah, we’re going to die here,” Hunk says, sounding surprisingly calm._

_Lance grimaces and says, “God, I hope not. Katie will kill us if we do.”_

_Hunk nods, and Keith hums in agreement._

_A shrill whistle then sounds, and Lance’s eyes widen. “Duck!” he yells, right before the explosive lands in their midst._

Lance opens his eyes; he can feel sweat beading down his forehead as he tries to shake off whatever… _that_ was. But he smirks and, as the Blue Lion feeds information directly into his brain, says, “Let’s see what this baby can do.”

* * *

“Lance, mind if I ask you something about the Blue Lion?”

Lance raises an eyebrow at Pidge, surprised and a little flattered that he addressed him. “Go for it,” he says cheerfully.

Pidge smiles, but before Lance can smile back he asks, “Did you get some weird… _vision_ thing when you touched its controls the first time?”

Lance stares at her, his mind slow to process his words, but when it does his heart starts to race, mouth going dry. “What  _kind_ of vision?”

Pidge shuffles his feet, directs his gaze away from him, and if Lance doesn’t know any better he’d say he looks  _embarrassed_. “A vision of… _us_. I mean, not  _us_ us,” he amends, waving his hands dismissively. “I mean all  _five_ of us, but sort of in a different time or place?”

Lance blinks at him, but then he sighs and admits, “Yeah, except, well, you weren’t in mine.”

“Oh, then…the others were?” He sounds so disappointed by the idea that he might’ve been left out that Lance grins and flings an arm around his shoulders.

“Pidge, you may not have been in  _my_ vision - or whatever it was - but I promise we’re friends.” Lance frowns. “Or we will be as soon as we figure out this  _Voltron_ business.”

Pidge snorts, but to Lance’s surprise he doesn’t pull away. “So who was in yours?”

“Keith and Hunk,” Lance says with a shrug. “It was a…trench of some kind, in the middle of a battle. I think we…” He swallows, the  _memory_ \- because that’s how it feels, like something  _remembered_ rather than  _daydreamed_ \- hitting him all over again. “What was yours about?”

Now Pidge withdraws, taking a step away from him. “Nothing like that,” he says. “I was reading some…old journals of my father’s.” He crosses his arms, a scowl upon his face. “It seems like even in daydreams he’s gone.”

Lance frowns at him, uncertain what he means, but he can read the misery and  _anger_  on his face. He rests a hand on her shoulder, reassurance like he did for him before he nudged the Blue Lion through the wormhole, and smiles when he looks up. “Hey,” he says, “I still have no idea what’s going on with you, but I hope it’ll work out.” 

Pidge bites her lip and meets his eyes, but then he nods and says, “Thanks, Lance. You’re really…not so bad.”

Lance scowls, but when he spots the teasing glint in Pidge’s eyes it softens into a smile.

* * *

Lance stumbles out of the Blue Lion, fumbling his helmet off and throwing it to the side without a second glance. He presses an arm against his stomach, nausea threatening to empty it, and doubles hover.

His mind still fills with images and thoughts and memories that do  _not_ belong to him, ones both familiar and unrecognizable. He sees a hundred lives in a hundred times, a hundred births and a hundred deaths. All the emotions and  _pain_ that accompany these new threads threaten to overwhelm him, and Lance experiences the collection agony of a hundred deaths’ worth of injury, disease, and weakness.

He doesn’t know how long it takes for it to pass, but when it does, he’s curled up on the hangar floor, tears streaming down his face. Other memories lie in wait, and distantly Lance wonders how the rest of the team is coping, because he  _knows_.

They  _all_ know.

The only constants in a hundred lifetimes is  _them_.

Eventually, Lance manages to dismiss the memories that don’t belong, the ones to be mulled over later - like laughing with Keith, drinking with Shiro, studying with Hunk, and kissing Pidge.

Kissing  _Pidge_.

Lance groans, burying his face in his hands once he sits up. He can hear worried voices rising from the speakers in his discarded helmet and reaches for it.

“Shiro?” Allura says as he puts the helmet on. “Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge? Are you all right? Why haven’t you returned to the bridge yet for debriefing?”

Lance grimaces, unable to muster much surprise that the beautiful princess would be so  _businesslike_ after a major battle. He’s about to reply, or at least attempt to, but Shiro beats him to it:

“Please give us all a moment, Princess,” he says, voice fainter than it should be. “We won, but I think forming Voltron took a toll on us.”

Lance chuckles, and fondly thinks of every such understatement Shiro made, whether in this life or one of the last hundred.


	66. Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a random prompt from tumblr
> 
> Canon-verse (possible divergence), angst and hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/171685730053/i-had-a-fucking-horrible-thought-of-the-first-time)
> 
>  
> 
> **spoilers for season 5 and implied character death ahead**

Pidge can barely see the computer screen through a curtain of tears, but she tries anyway, blinking them furiously out of the way. Her throat hurts and her heart aches after all the crying she’s done, though a numbness to the grief already sets in. But she still seeks to distract herself with something,  _anything_ , that could’ve helped.

_Could we have done anything differently?_  Pidge keeps asking herself. She taps the arrow keys, scrolling through a long list of files, searching for just  _one_  that she never examined closely enough, just _one_  that might’ve indicated where it all went wrong and where  _Shiro_ —

“Pidge?”

She doesn’t look up at the sound of Lance’s voice, only wipes the tears from her face because she doesn’t want him, of all people, to see her crying. But of course it’s too late for that, not when her eyes and nose are undoubtedly red and she can’t help  _sniffling_.

She hears his footsteps before she sees him, and when he stands between her and the wide viewscreen on the Castle’s bridge, she glances up.

Lance rests his hands on his hips, looking down at her with a critical frown. But even Pidge can tell by his puffy eyes that he’s been crying too.

“Do you mind some company?” Lance asks.

Pidge stares at him. “I…why?”

He crosses his arms, rolling his eyes, and says, “Do you mind sharing your company then?”

“Why me?” she can’t help wondering. Why does Lance not seek out Hunk or even Allura?

He sighs. “Maybe I just want your company now, in my time of need.”

“ _Your_ time of need?” Pidge can’t resist quipping.

Lance snorts, and the trace of an amused smile brings warmth to Pidge’s aching chest. “Fine,  _our_  time of need. Besides, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “You seem a bit more torn up about this than Hunk.”

Pidge isn’t sure about that, for she knows they’re all grieving in their own ways, but Lance’s companionship appeals to her in a way no one else’s would. She smiles tentatively and says, “As long as you don’t distract me.”

“Too bad,” says Lance, nudging her aside and sitting beside her on the wide seat at the Green Paladin’s terminal, “because that was my main objective.”

Pidge frowns at him. “I’m busy, Lance,” she says.

“What can you possibly be working on now?” he asks. “We’re on a…break, so—”

“I need to know if we could’ve done something better,” Pidge admits. “I  _need_  to know, if maybe we could’ve been able to stop it.” She pinches her eyes shut, though that hardly stops fresh tears from escaping. Inhaling shakily and with arms wrapping around her legs, she says, “We didn’t notice anything wrong, Lance. Why  _not_?”

She can feel Lance shift beside her, and for a tic she worries he’ll leave her. Then something heavy sits on her shoulders, and Pidge opens her eyes, blinking in confusion when she touches the sleeve of Lance’s jacket. “What’s this for?”

Lance shrugs and says, “You looked cold.”

Her eyelid twitches but she doesn’t contradict him, instead tugging the jacket tighter around her. She inhales, struggling to control her breathing before she starts sobbing again, and catches a whiff of his scent, of fruity soap and toothpaste and a strange sort of musk.

Lance’s jacket wrapped around her warms Pidge almost as much as his presence. She bites her lip, reluctant to show him how pleased she is with the gesture, but allows herself to lean into him.

His arm wraps around her back and he says, “I know how you feel, Pidge.”

Pidge stiffens, eyes flying wide and heart racing. “You do?” No, he  _couldn’t_ —

“Yeah.” Lance sighs, and she feels the way his posture shifts, lungs filling and emptying. “I keep asking myself the same thing, because, well…” He rubs his face. “He  _told_  me he didn’t feel like himself, but I didn’t think it could’ve led where it did.”

Pidge blinks at him, but she recovers from her surprise quickly and says, “How could you have known, Lance? It’s not your fault.”

“And it’s not your fault either, Pidge,” Lance says, his sudden intensity surprising her. “That’s my  _point_ ; it isn’t anyone’s fault except that  _witch’s_ , and you need to know that.” He takes her hand in his, loosening her grip around her legs, and squeezes. “It’s so easy to blame ourselves, or even Shiro, but it wasn’t his fault either.”

His hand is warm around hers, almost distractingly so, but she still stares up at his face, her eyes wide. “Lance…”

“It’s not…it’s not your fault.” Lance runs his fingers through his hair, and Pidge wants to copy him, despite their situation.

“But maybe we could’ve  _done_  something—”

Lance lets go of her hand and holds her face between both of his, turning her to face him and startling her into silence. He’s near enough that she can feel his warm breath on her forehead, and her own keeps catching in her throat.

“It’s not your fault,” Lance says again, voice low and insistent.

Pidge unfreezes and rests her hands on his wrists. “It’s not yours either,” she says, because despite his insistence something tells her he also needs to hear it.

Lance swallows, the motion drawing Pidge’s attention until he says, “Thanks, Pidge.”

“Thank you, Lance,” she says, her grip on his wrists tightening. A smile pushes at the corners of her mouth, and this time she doesn’t fight it. For once her heart fills with affection, the grief held at bay if not vanished, and despite the rotten circumstances, the weight of his jacket around her shoulders and the warmth of his hands on her face makes her… _content_.

When Lance’s lips part, Pidge is suddenly aware of the pounding of her heart, and she hangs onto his every next word without meaning to. “Pidge, I think I—”

The sound of shattering glass interrupts him, and Lance lets go of Pidge and leans away from her. She scowls, annoyed at the disruption, and peaks over her seat to see one of Allura’s mice darting away from the scene of a crime.

Lance laughs, leaning forward and burying his face in his hands, and Pidge joins in. They laugh until they’re both breathless, and Pidge thinks that the mouse interrupting - or  _eavesdropping_  more likely - is for the better.

When they’ve both caught their breath, Lance leans back in the seat and grumbles, “And now we have to grovel to Lotor.”

Blinking in surprise at the turn the conversation has taken, Pidge admits, “He’s really not that bad.”

“Oh, not you too,” Lance mutters. She feels him stiffen against her, and when she turns her head towards him he averts his eyes. “First Allura and now you…”

Pidge narrows her eyes at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she demands.

Lance shrugs, cheeks turning red, and says, “I just didn’t think you liked him, after…what happened with your dad.”

“I’ve had some time to think about it, I guess,” Pidge says, but then she smirks and adds, “And I  _still_  don’t like him.” She wraps her arms around Lance’s waist and rests her forehead against his shoulder. “After all, I wouldn’t want  _him_  to keep me company now.”

Lance chuckles, the sound rumbling pleasantly into her side, and pulls her closer with an arm around her shoulders. He presses his nose into her hair and says, “Then I’m honored you’re letting me.”

“There’s no competition,” Pidge snorts, glad he can’t see her face when it heats up. “There never was.”


	67. Free Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted but inspired
> 
> Canon universe, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/172937543073/for-nicollini-inspired-by-her-art-and-that)
> 
> Inspired by [this art](http://nicollini.tumblr.com/post/172921188649/nicollini-epiphany-someone-might-have-some) by [Nico](http://nicollini.tumblr.com/)

Lance finds Pidge exactly where he expected her: sitting in front of her computer in the Green Lion’s hangar. What he  _didn’t_  expect was to find her with her head pillowed on her folded arms, glasses crooked, eyes closed, and lips slightly parted.

Pidge’s soft snores fill the cavernous space, and the Green Lion answers in deep, soothing rumbles that shake the hangar floor. Her computer emits a beep at a steady tempo, and it looks almost as if Pidge took advantage of a running program to catch a nap.

But Lance knows better, that Pidge wouldn’t wait and would occupy her time by finding some other task to fill it. No, this is the classic case of Pidge passing out in the middle of a task, and he now realizes fate has granted him a rare opportunity.

Lance approaches cautiously, wary of waking Pidge with the sound of his echoing footsteps. He glances at the Green Lion, but she stares impassively at nothing, eyes dark. Then he bends down, slipping an arm underneath Pidge’s knees and another around her back and carefully lifts her.

Or he _would_ , if she didn’t stir in the process.

Pidge wakes with a sleepy murmur, blinking furiously and reaching underneath her glasses to press her fingers into her eyes. Then she squints at Lance.

He holds his breath, waiting for her reproach - Pidge never lets anyone that isn’t Shiro or Matt carry her.

She asks, voice raspy with sleep, “What’re you doing?”

“I was about to carry you to your room,” Lance says, keeping his own voice low. “You fell asleep at your desk again.”

Pidge sighs, shoulders dropping, and before she can protest he wonders, “Since you woke up, do you want me to carry you in my arms or would you rather piggy back?”

He stares at her, heart thumping and expecting her to reject his offer, but then she says, “Piggy back, please.”

Lance blinks, surprised, but a warmth spreads through his chest and he can’t help the grin that stretches his face. “Gladly.” He turns his back to Pidge, kneeling in front of her, and when she winds her arms loosely around his neck, he positions his arms under her knees and stands.

Pidge slumps heavily against his back, indicating how tired she really is. Her cheek presses into his hair, her breath warming his ear, as he carries her from the hangar, the Green Lion’s rumbling fading behind them.

Pidge weighs more than Lance expected, maybe because her baggy clothes hide the compact muscle they’ve all built since the Blue Lion first whisked them into space. But her weight feels comfortable, and even she feels relaxed leaning into him like this. And she’s even the perfect height that he can tuck her head underneath his chin!

Those thoughts bring heat to his cheeks, but before he can examine it too closely Pidge says, “You’d better not tell anyone else about this.”

(She speaks so close to his ear that he has to repress a slight shiver.)

“ _Especially_  n-not”—she yawns—”Matt.”

Lance frowns. “Why? Would he be mad?”

Pidge scratches her nose using the back of his head. “He’d never let me live it down,” she tells him. Her grip on him tightens incrementally before loosening again.

Lance half-turns his head to look at her, wondering if he imagines the embarrassment in her voice. “My lips are sealed,” he promises. He smirks and adds, “On…one condition.”

Pidge grumbles, “That depends on the condition.”

“You admit that I’m the team’s sharpshooter and not just the goofball.”

“Why?” Pidge says, her fingers clutching at the front of his shirt. “Why do you want to be  _just_  the sharpshooter? You’re way more than that.”

Lance’s heart skips a beat at her quiet confession, and he frowns, wondering if she’d admit to thinking so were she more cognizant and less  _sleepy_. “Thanks, Pidge. I’m…really glad you think so.” He floats for a few paces, the light burden that is Pidge growing even lighter. He takes her praise and holds it close to his heart, a wide smile pushing at his lips.

Then an idea takes root, and he wonders what else he can convince Pidge to agree or admit to in her current state.

“Hey, Pidge,” Lance says, voice low and teasing, “what do you think of my piloting skills?”

“Better than they were at the Garrison,” she murmurs.

“Would you call me the ‘tailor’ now?”

Pidge snorts softly against his neck. “Maybe if you weren’t so obnoxious about it.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “So you admit that I’m a good pilot?”

Pidge doesn’t answer, and he thinks for a tic that she fell asleep against him. He tightens his grip on her legs, leaning forward as he walks so that she won’t fall backwards, but then she tells him, “Yeah, I guess.”

It’s a rather lame answer, but it’s one that puts a spring in his step the rest of the way.

“Can I be player one from now on when we’re playing co-op?” Lance then asks.

“Not a chance,” Pidge says.

Lance rolls his eyes. Apparently sleepy Pidge is no more amenable to  _that_  particular suggestion than she is when wide awake.

He nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise when Pidge nuzzles into his shoulder, her breath warm and lips just barely skirting his skin. His pulse quickens, and Lance resists the urge to twitch and jostle her.

“You asleep yet?” he wonders, squeezing her legs.

Pidge shakes her head. “Almost,” she admits.

She kisses his cheek.

Lance freezes, eyes wide and heart pounding - and he’s not sure if her lips linger or if it’s just his imagination. He considers the gesture, trying not to read into it: maybe Pidge casually kisses her friends’ cheeks all the time! Besides, she’s nearly asleep, so who knows if she’s  _really_  conscious of—

“Thank you, Lance,” Pidge says, her soft voice interrupting his frantic thoughts.

“Y-you’re welcome, Pidge,” he tells her.

They’re silent the rest of the way to her room, while Pidge finally falls asleep against him and his mind takes a more chaotic turn.

Pidge’s praise, her body and its warmth leaning into him, her swearing him to secrecy, the  _kiss_ —

“Holy  _quiznak_ ,” Lance breathes, right as he comes to a stop outside Pidge’s bedroom.

His whole body flushes at the realization, the epiphany settling under his skin until it’s the only thought bouncing around his mind.

The door slides open, and Lance slowly picks his way around the debris littering the floor until he can carefully lean down and set Pidge on her bed. She stirs again during the process, settling under the covers and taking off her glasses, but within tics her eyes slip closed and her breathing steadies.

Lance lingers, licking his lips. His hand hovers over Pidge’s, and with his other he pushes her hair from her face and speaks words he can never take back, words he’s not sure he’s ready for her to hear just yet:

“I think I might…like you.”

Pidge smiles in her sleep, and Lance hopes she’s having a pleasant dream.


	68. Farewell (for Now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I prompted myself for Reasons ~~because who doesn't love a first kiss~~
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff with a hint of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/173118905413/i-was-just-in-the-mood-for-a-first-kiss-andwrite)

Pidge finds him in the Red Lion’s hangar. She stands in the doorway, something tense sitting under her skin both urging her forward and holding her back.

When she finally approaches, her footsteps echo eerily around the open space, enough that they grab Lance’s attention.

He turns to look at her, hands on his hips and a smile, just for her, stretching across his face. “Come to see me off?” he wonders.

Pidge halts just in front of him and nods stiffly. Her eyes wander around the hangar, not landing on any one thing before she fixes her gaze on the Red Lion’s face. Lance will be well-protected in it, but worry makes her wring the hem of her sweater and her thoughts consume her.

She knows it’s selfish of her to tell him now, of all times, when there’s a more important task at hand. But the words always sit on the tip of her tongue, trying to fight their way out without her permission.

“Pidge?” Lance frowns. “Are you okay? You look a little…constipated.”

She covers her face with a hand, a strangled laugh escaping her. “I-I need to tell you something, Lance.”

“Oh…’kay.” When she peeks at him between her fingers, his eyes are wide and confused. “What’s up?”

“I…” Pidge curses her own reticence, the words that she can’t force out despite the emotion threatening to overrun the dam. Her heart pounds, and she thinks, for an instant, that it may not be the right time after all.

Until an image of him, unconscious and battered and floating alone through space, enters her mind.

Pidge flings her arms around his neck, so suddenly he stumbles backwards in surprise. His arms wrap around her waist and pull her against him, and she takes a shuddering breath as she presses her face to his armored chest.

“Now you’re kind of freaking me out, Pidge,” he says.

“You’re freaking me out more,” she retorts, her voice muffled.

“You want to…look at me?”

Pidge bites her lip. If she does, she’s not sure what will happen, what will come out of her mouth, but if she doesn’t…

She loosens her grip on him without pulling away, and to her relief he doesn’t either. She looks up then, can even read the concern in his eyes, and tries to smile.

“I just hate it when one of my family leaves,” Pidge says, carefully.

“We’re family, huh?” Lance raises an eyebrow at her and returns his smile.

It fills her chest with warmth, and she can feel her muscles relaxing at the sight. “Of course we are, Lance,” she tells him. “We push each other’s buttons, and quarrel, and tease, and  _prank_ , and—”

He laughs. “Quiznak, Pidge, tell me how you really feel.”

“—I love you.”

The smile on his face freezes, his eyes widening as he stares at her. He flushes, and says, “Huh?”

Her own cheeks warm, and Pidge counts her blessings that he hasn’t moved away. In fact, his grip on her tightens, and it encourages her to rest her forehead against his collar and say, “Please don’t make me say it again. It was embarrassing enough the first time.”

“But what if I didn’t hear you?”

She frowns; she can  _hear_  the smugness in his voice now that he’s recovered from his shock. “I can take it back instead,” she says.

“You wouldn’t do that to me, Pidge, right? But…why?”

“I wanted you to know before you left,” she says, looking at him again. “I’ve been trying to tell you for a while.”

Lance’s hands sit on her waist. “Yeah, but…” He smiles, fingers skirting up her side and making warmth spread through her when he carefully rests his palm on her cheek. “C-can I k—”

Pidge kisses him before the request escapes him, before she can change her mind. She rests her hands on his chest, sighing when he kisses her back and holds her face between his hands.

It’s soft, little more than a brushing of lips and an exchange of breath, but it nearly overwhelms her senses, making her heart pound and blood rush to her face. And when he pulls away, it leaves her wanting more.

But she doesn’t chase after him, because when he meets her eyes, his face as red and his smile as dazzling as hers must be, she understands the words he didn’t speak:

 _I_ _’ll come back,_ his lips promised hers.  _I_ _’ll be safe with you again._

And Pidge holds him to that promise by tangling their fingers together when he finally pulls away. She squeezes his hand as he slips on his helmet, and he says, “If I don’t come back—”

“You will,” she insists with a scowl.

“—can I count on you to come get me?”

Pidge crosses her arms but can’t resist a smirk. “What else is family for?”


	69. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "If you love it so much, then why don't you marry it?"
> 
> Canon-verse, short and sweet (for the most part)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/174139765643/also-prompt-list-im-gonna-spam-you-and-you-can)

Stars shone in Pidge’s eyes as soon as they fell on the device laying on the table. But when she sprinted towards it, the Olkari showing them around struggling to keep pace, Lance hung back and followed more leisurely.

Lance couldn’t tell what the big deal was, only that the device was shiny and reflective and therefore made of metal…probably. As he drew closer, he might’ve spotted a dial of some kind on one side, and it had a vaguely cube shape.

“Another echo cube?” he wondered, leaning towards it with his eyes narrowed.

“Don’t be silly, Lance,” Pidge said, a grin stretching her face. “It’s a subsonic oscillator.”

Lance blinked. “ _Salud_ ,” he said.

Pidge rolled her eyes at him. “It detects very low frequency vibrations and amplifies them so that they’re audible,  _and_  it can convert normal frequencies into vibrations that are then detectable by similar instruments.”

Now  _that_  was more to Lance’s vocabulary. “And that’s important because…?”

Pidge lovingly stroked the top of the cube - or the subsonic oscillator. “It’s important because we can use it to decode incoming low-frequency vibrations and transmit some of our own. Of course, it’s not so useful in space because longitudinal waves need a medium for transmission, but—”

“All that in a small, easy-to-carry package, huh?” Lance couldn’t help quipping with a slight smirk.

Pidge, apparently, didn’t catch his sarcasm, for she sighed dreamily and said, “Yeah.” She hugged it to her chest and muttered, “I love it. Thank you, Horus.”

Horus, the Olkari that brought them to this lab, smiled. “It’s my pleasure to help Voltron where I can.”

Lance scowled at him, unsure if that  _smile_  he wore wasn’t a little  _too_  fond. To Pidge, he grumbled, “If you love it so much, then why don’t you marry it?”

Pidge glared at him over the top of the device. “You know what, Lance? Maybe I will.”

* * *

 

The hairs on the back of Pidge’s neck prickled right as the last sentry fell in a heap of smoking metal. She turned to see what enemy waited for her, only for a body to barrel into her, pushing her aside.

They rolled together, only just evading the heat and  _force_  of an explosion right where she’d stood ticks ago.

Her ears rang as her back hit the ground, black spots filling her vision. She shook her head to clear it, and when her eyes focused on the face hovering over hers, she couldn’t help smiling.

“You going to let me up, Lance? Because if you wanted a hug you could’ve just asked.”

Lance’s face flushed red, visible even behind his helmet’s visor, and he asked, “Oh, that’s how you thank me for saving your life?”

Pidge laughed, well-aware that her own cheeks must be as livid as his, and said, “Come on, we’re not  _safe_  yet.”

Lance rolled his eyes but stood, then offered his hand.

Pidge accepted, and when he tugged her up in one smooth motion, she wrapped her arms around his torso. Their armor clacked together almost unpleasantly, but as he returned her embrace, she could forget about that for the moment.

But not for long.

The clanking of sentries approached, and they sprung apart, poised and ready with their backs together. More sentries than they’d ever faced at once surrounded them, setting Pidge’s heart thumping with anxiety.

She summoned her bayard, and she heard Lance’s charging up right behind her. She took a single step back as a living Galra officer stepped through the ranks of robots, and when her back hit Lance’s she inhaled deeply.

“You are outnumbered, Paladins,” the Galra officer bragged.

“We’ve faced worse odds,” Lance pointed out cheerfully.

“And come out of it healthier,” Pidge added with a smirk. Her blood rushed with adrenaline, making her bolder, and she knew that despite the severity of this situation, help would be on the way.

The officer scowled. “We’ll see how long you last.”

Pidge fired up her shield as the sentries took aim. “Any last words, Lance?”

“Not last,” he said, “but first.”

“What’s that supposed to—”

“Pidge, I love you.”

Pidge’s heart skipped a beat, and she retorted, “If you love me so much, then why don’t you marry me?”

Her eyes shot open as soon as the last word escaped her mouth, but some of the tension left her shoulders when Lance laughed.

“When we escape this—”

“I love you for saying  _when_  and not  _if_ ,” Pidge muttered.

“—maybe I will.”

Pidge reached back, finding Lance’s hand already seeking hers, and wrapped her fingers around his in silent promise. Then she held up her bayard, sparks dancing across the blade, and surged forward to meet their enemies.


	70. Toxic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "I think I twisted my ankle..."
> 
> Canon-verse, mild horror with angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/174234303233/10-for-the-prompt-thing-you-shared)

Lance stared up the nearest tree trunk, contemplating the distance to the lowest branch. Even if he extended his arm over his head, he’d need to be  _at least_  four times his height for his fingertips to even brush its bark.

Everything about this forest was so mindbogglingly  _huge_.

He tried to fire up his shattered jet pack again, but when all he got were sparks and a thin stream of smoke barely discernible in the gloom, he thought better of risking another explosion. Instead he sagged and resumed climbing over the arching tree root lying in his path.

The back of Lance’s neck prickled uncomfortably, but when he turned around he couldn’t spot anything but wide, twisting roots and green undergrowth. Even if he scanned his surroundings with the light from his wrist cuff, no creature - no living thing that wasn’t a plant - met his eyes.

Lance shook his head, but couldn’t shake the feeling that something stalked him from the dense shadows. 

 _Something in this air is getting to me,_ he thought.

The speakers in his helmet buzzed with static, startling him, and Pidge’s voice grumbled, “You’d better not have taken off your helmet.”

Lance frowned, rapping his knuckles on his sealing visor though she probably wouldn’t hear it. “I know, I know,” he retorted, rolling his eyes. “Just because the atmosphere is  _oxygen-rich_  doesn’t mean it’s safe for us to breathe. Besides…I didn’t even say anything about taking off my helmet.” 

“Y-you didn’t?” Pidge asked, sounding confused. “Are you sure? Maybe you just thought out loud or—” 

“Nope,” Lance said, shrugging though she wasn’t there to see it. “But, since I have you here, I feel like something’s following me.” 

“Really?” Her tone spiked in alarm. “Then come back to the crash site.” 

“And lead whatever it is to you?” Lance snorted. “Not a chance.”

“Green may not be functional right now, Lance,” Pidge said impatiently, “but she’s better shelter than anything else out here.”

Lance tapped his foot, once more taking in his surroundings while he considered Pidge’s words. Great trees rose high above him, the canopy so distant and  _dense_ that he couldn’t make out any details or resolve individual leaves. Only the slightest  _suggestion_  of sunlight penetrated to the forest floor, but the protruding roots were so thick, the tree trunks so wide and tall, that shadows crowded out what little light reached so far down.

“I don’t know, Pidge,” he said with a sigh. “Shelter or no, I feel like a sitting dooflaz over there.”

“Is that why you’re trying to climb a tree taller than the Burj Khalifa with a broken jet pack?”

Lance crossed his arms and scowled, but was at least grateful that Pidge couldn’t see his hot face. “How did you know I did that?”

Pidge didn’t reply immediately; he could imagine her staring at him with wide eyes if they stood face to face, puzzling through this issue…

…an issue that set Lance’s heart to pounding a rapid beat against his ribs. “Pidge?” he prompted when her silence grew worrying.

“I-I don’t know how I know that,” she muttered, so softly he almost missed it. “You didn’t say it out loud, did you?”

“No,” Lance said. He rested his hands on his hips, then added, “All right, I’m coming back. Don’t want us  _both_  to be on edge.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t—”

Lance turned to head in the way he’d come, light now directed at the ground so he could retrace his footsteps and the small scrapes he’d made in the roots with his bayard. “Look, Pidge, you’ll obviously feel safer if I’m there—”

“I did  _not_  say that!”

“—and the more I see of this planet, the more it gives me the heebie jeebies. I keep expecting to walk straight into Aragog’s colony without noticing till I can hear the clicking of giant spi—”

“Shut up, Lance!” Pidge said, voice strained enough that shame filled Lance. “And hurry back!” And before he could apologize for not keeping his creepy thoughts to himself, the connection clicked off.

Then again, if some of his  _internal_  thoughts filtered through to her…

Lance grasped his helmet between his hands, the closest he could get to running his fingers through his hair. He’d almost rather be stranded on a strange planet with  _Keith_ , at least as of late.

Then again, with Keith they’d probably spend far longer trying to coax a nonfunctional Lion into reaching the Castle, so he was grateful for Pidge’s expertise.

The sunlight that just barely illuminated the Green Lion’s impact crater greeted his eyes before the Lion herself. It penetrated through the tear in the canopy made when the Lion crashed through, but it lay so far above that, from the ground, it looked no wider than Lance’s thumbnail.

He kept his wrist cuff’s light on - though he could already imagine Pidge scolding him about preserving his armor’s systems - as he descended into the crater, jogging down the steeply sloping side until he finally reached the Green Lion.

She lay on her side at the base of the crater, covered in dust and severed tree roots and torn leaves that were once longer than Pidge was tall. The scraps were still thicker than his hand, and idly he wondered how heavy one intact would be.

“Pidge?” he said, activating the comm link between their helmets as he paused in front of the Green Lion’s collapsed head. “I’m outside the Lion.”

Rather than replying, Pidge herself emerged from the Lion, crawling through the opening between her barely parted jaws with a grunt. She seemed to sag when her eyes landed on him.

“How’s Green?” Lance asked.

“Same as when you left,” Pidge said, sighing. “Did you find anything?”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t find any giant spiders,” Lance reassured her with a grin.

Pidge stared at him, face flat and unimpressed. “What a relief. And I meant did you find anything  _useful_?”

“I did not,” Lance admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But…can I borrow your jet pack?”

“So you can climb a tree?” Pidge frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” He shrugged and gestured towards the nearest tree, expanding up from the lip of the crater. “Maybe I can find something from up there, like a river, or at least we can check if someone’s chasing us since your Lion’s still down.”

Pidge crossed her arms, gaze fixed on the ground. “To be honest, I don’t think anyone’s chasing us.”

Lance raised an eyebrow at her. “Why not?”

“Because as soon as we broke this planet’s atmosphere, the Galra ships after us left us to our doom.”

Lance chuckled without humor. “Uh, Pidge, I don’t know if you noticed, but I was too busy screaming in terror to pay much attention to our enemies.”

Pidge shrugged. “I was too busy trying to right Green to pay much attention to you screaming in terror.”

He rolled his eyes at her, then smiled. “Glad to see the crash hasn’t destroyed your sense of humor.”

She snorted, but then she surprised him.

She threw herself at him, so hard he stumbled back a step, her arms slipping around his neck as she leaned into him, holding on tightly.

Lance didn’t let himself be startled for long, quickly returning her hug and…glad their armor prevented her from feeling the pounding of his heart.  _What did I do to deserve this?_

“Everything,” Pidge told him, “especially coming back.”

Lance stiffened, but she didn’t seem to notice. “I…Pidge, I think you’re reading my mind.”

Pidge sighed. “I did it again, didn’t I?” She pulled away - Lance couldn’t quite stop himself from thinking that he wished she wouldn’t - and met his eyes. “Can you hear anything  _I_ _’m_  thinking?”

Lance stared at her as she fell silent, but all he could hear - or  _not_  hear - was the eerie quiet of their surroundings and the sound of his own breathing. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

Pidge buried her helmeted face in her hands. “This doesn’t make much sense, and I barely have any resources to figure it out.” She laughed at a private joke and added, “What I’d give to be stranded in a trash nebula again…”

“So you can collect more of those caterpillars?” Lance wondered, quirking an amused eyebrow at her.

Pidge snorted. “That, and have what I need to repair Green quickly and contact the Castle.”

“The Green Paladin, friend to all creatures, great and small, flesh and metal.”

Pidge smiled, the sight filling Lance with a welcome warmth. “Nothing here to befriend, but I wonder…with trees this big, you think this planet has some kind of megafauna?”

Lance eyed her suspiciously. “You  _do_  know I was joking about the giant spiders, right?”

“I know, I know.” Pidge waved a dismissive hand. “But there has to be a reason the Galra haven’t touched this planet. Judging by the fertility of this forest, it seems rich in resources.”

“You said they avoided chasing us once we broke the atmosphere,” Lance reminded her. “And you think it has to do with megafauna?”

“Not really,” Pidge conceded. She leaned against the Green Lion’s snout. “They’d have ways to counter whatever their version of dinosaurs is. It must be something else…”

“Either way, I have a  _really_ bad feeling about this.”

To his surprise, Pidge laughed so hard she snorted. He hadn’t meant it as a joke - hadn’t even realized what he said until the words were already spoken - but a flash of triumph filled him at the sound.

“I’m serious, Pidge,” he said, despite the smile pushing at his lips.  _I want to hear it again._

Pidge flushed red and cleared her throat. “M-maybe one of us  _should_  climb and see if we can spot anything.”

Lance held out his hands. “Great, let me just—”

“I’ll go,” Pidge interrupted. “You’re right. I’m starting to get anxious waiting and  _failing_  to convince Green to respond.”

Lance stared at her as she stepped around him, a protest on his lips. She climbed out of the crater faster than he would’ve expected, and he didn’t follow until she stood at the top.

“W-wait, Pidge!” he called, panting as he struggled up the incline. “I-I can do it!”

“I’m sure,” Pidge agreed when he caught up to her.

She stood on a root at the base of a gargantuan tree that would’ve dwarfed Earth’s tallest redwoods, her feet at the same level as Lance’s eyes.

“Then let  _me_  go instead,” Lance said, tapping his chest. “I wanted to at first anyway.”

“And now  _I_  want to,” Pidge insisted. “Stop being a hypocrite.” Then, ignoring the arguments fighting their way through Lance’s mind to get to his tongue, she crouched in place and jumped.

Pidge fired up her jet pack at the highest point of her leap, twin trails of blue shooting her through the air. When her arms wrapped around a high - but relatively low - branch as wide as she was, Lance released a breath he didn’t realize he held.

“You’re thinking too loud, Lance,” Pidge complained from her next perch.

By now, even with the light streaming in through the canopy, all Lance could see of her was the blue light of her boosters, ascending higher still. “I’ll try to keep it down then,” he retorted sarcastically.

Pidge chuckled, pausing on yet another branch. She approached the top of the tree, where the branches thinned. “You probably _could_  carry one of these leaves, by the way. Do you want me to cut one and throw it down to you?”

Lance scowled. “It’ll crush me when it lands.”

“I’ll miss you then,” Pidge said.

Within ticks, a giant leaf fluttered down from the top, drifting like a leaf on Earth would but more heavily and swifter. It landed softly near Lance, sending up a cloud of dust, but he still stared up at Pidge.

Tension filled his body when the blue of her boosters disappeared from his view, his hands curled into fists at his sides.  _Just because I can_ _’t see her doesn’t mean she isn’t fine,_ he told himself.

“Lance!” Pidge said excitedly directly into his ear. “It’s nearly sunset! And I see a river! I can’t tell how far it is from here, but it cuts through the forest. Maybe…whatever passes for east from here.”

“Great,” Lance gritted out. “A-are you going to come down now?”

“Give me a tick,” Pidge said, probably rolling her eyes. “I’m going to scan for life signs. I hope being this high helps with the range…”

Lance tapped his foot while he waited.  _Hurry up._

“Oh, there’s…”

“What?” Lance said, her subdued tone putting him on edge. He stared up the tree’s rough trunk, half-hoping to make her out. “What’s wrong?”

“This planet has no sign of life on it.”

“So…no giant spiders or dinosaurs?”

“Lance,” Pidge said, “my scan’s not picking up  _anything_.”

His heart dropped into his stomach at her words, and though he still wasn’t sure what she meant, a sense of foreboding fell over him.

“I scanned again,” said Pidge, “and there’s still  _nothing_.”

“Pidge,” Lance said, “what does that mean?”

“This forest is dead.”

“What does that  _mean_ , Pidge?” he repeated testily.

“I-I don’t—”

“Never mind,” he dismissed, shaking his head. “Just explain it when you get back down.”

“I don’t understand,” Pidge complained, ignoring him. “Everything is huge, but it still looks  _alive_ , so why is it  _dead_?”

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe they’re zombie trees?”

He half-expected Pidge to tell him to be serious, that now was not the time for half-assed  _hypotheses_ , but instead she inhaled sharply and said, “Maybe. I-I’m coming down now.”

Lance exhaled in relief, then forced himself to relax when he spotted Pidge’s booster jets, now standing out more starkly against the darkness as it deepened with the approaching sunset.

“Does it even matter if they’re zombies though?” Lance wondered as his eyes tracked Pidge’s slow and steady progress down the tree.

“Of course it does,” Pidge retorted. “We need to know how they got like that so we don’t go the same way.”

A shiver traveled up his spine, grateful for the security of his helmet and the life support in his armor.

But that wouldn’t last forever…

“Do you think whatever killed everything here can affect the Green Lion?” Lance asked.

He could hear Pidge’s breath stuttering as she hesitated to answer, could hear the thoughtful but  _frightened_  intake of breath that they were soon to be subjected to whatever scared even the Galra. And then she sighed and admitted, “I don’t know, Lance.”

His heart sunk, but he refused to consider an alternative to escape or rescue. “We’ll be fine,” he reassured Pidge.  _I promise we_ _’ll go back to the Castle safely._

Lance hoped that thought filtered through to Pidge’s mind, hoped that it gave her heart, despite how useless he was starting to feel here on the ground.

_Almost there_ _…_

“Th-there’s this strange toxin in the air my armor sensed,” Pidge explained without acknowledging his thoughts. “I’m not sure what it is - I don’t have the equipment to test it - but it could be responsible for the death of every single living thing on this planet.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I don’t know that either,” Pidge said, not bothering to conceal her growing frustration. “For all we know it could be from a plant, or a microorganism, or a chemical spill, or a quiznaking volcano!” She descended feet-first from the second-lowest branch. “It’s now just important that we keep our helmets—” She cut herself off with a gasp.

Lance’s heart jumped into his throat when Pidge stumbled on the branch, one of her feet slipping out from underneath her. He lurched forward as her arms windmilled, seeking purchase, and he yelled, “Pidge!”

She fell.

* * *

The way down was longer than Pidge expected, and quieter. Maybe it was the insulation her armor provided, and maybe it was the eerie silence of the forest, but she almost felt like she floated on the air. 

And then she hit the ground.

Sound returned, her blood rushing past her ears and a gasp tearing from her at the collision. Her armor spared her damage, except for the spinning of her head and the blurring of her vision, but a sudden, loud crack startled her.

“—idge!”  _Oh God, oh God, oh God._

Pidge raised a hand and rested it against her head. “L-lance?” she stuttered.

He entered her view, his face a dark blue and brown blur before her eyes could resolve it. His lips were turned down into a frown as he knelt beside her.

_She_ _’s awake she’s awake she’s aw—_

“Say it a little louder, why don’t you,” she said…or tried to, since it came out sounding more garbled than she meant.

“Pidge, are you okay?” Lance demanded. “Where’s the damage?”

“I-I think I twisted my ankle…”

Lance gaped at her. “That’s it, is it?”

“H-head hurts,” she said. “H-help me s-sit up.”

“Are you sure?”

Pidge nodded, or tried to until a wave of dizziness swept over her. “Y-yeah.”

Lance grasped her hand in his, an arm wrapping around her back as he helped her sit upright. “Why the quiznak didn’t you activate your boosters, Pidge?”

“I-I didn’t have the time t-to think about it,” she admitted with a shaky laugh.

“God, Pidge,” Lance said. He didn’t let go of her, even when he propped her back against the giant tree she’d just fallen from. “If your ankle is the  _only_  problem—”

His eyes widened when her armor emitted a soft alarm, a red light flashing on the inside of her visor followed by an alert. Pidge struggled to read it with unfocused eyes, but once she understood she bit her lip.

“What does that mean, Pidge?” Lance asked.

“I…” She couldn’t bright herself to look at him, not when his imagination running wild bombarded her senses.

“Pidge, please tell me what that means.”

She inhaled shakily - which, in retrospect, was probably a bad idea - and confessed, “There’s a fissure in my armor.”

Lance’s hand rested on the back of her head, and she finally looked at him.

“Okay…but what does that  _mean_ , Pidge?” he insisted.

“L-life support system i-is starting to fail,” she explained softly. “I-I’m breathing this planet’s atmosphere now.”

“No,” Lance said, shaking his head.

“L-Lance, th-this planet’s atmosphere is so oxygen-rich that—” She cut herself off as her lip twitched, her stomach roiling with nausea at the same time. Then she laughed and said, “I wonder if that or the toxin will kill me first.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lance said. “Let’s go back to the Green Lion and you can tell me how to wake her up and we’ll get back to the Castle before either of those things become a problem.”

“B-but—”

Lance didn’t give her a chance to protest. He stood up, then slipped an arm under her knees and the other behind her back.

“I c-can walk,” Pidge grumbled as he settled her against his chest. “P-probably.”

“You said you twisted your ankle,” Lance pointed out, “ _and_  you’re probably nauseous and dizzy.”

Pidge snorted but wrapped her arms around his neck - far less reluctantly than she’d ever admit - as he started their descent back into the impact crater. “Can you hear my thoughts now?”

Lance shook his head. “I just know those are symptoms of oxygen-toxicity.”

Pidge gaped at him. “How—”

“I took scuba lessons for my fifteenth birthday,” he said, flashing her a weak smirk.  _And I_ _’m not an idiot._

“I never said you were,” Pidge muttered, knocking her helmet against his.

Her heart lurched during the unsteady descent, Lance muttering apologies for jostling her as he climbed.  _Faster,_ she heard him think.

“Slow down,” she said instead when he nearly tripped over a tree root. “D-don’t twist your ankle too.”

“We’re almost there,” Lance told her, ignoring her advice.

Pidge rolled her eyes, then immediately regretted it when the simple motion set the world spinning around her. Her stomach still turned, but she didn’t particularly want to discover what the last thing she ate was.

By the time they finally reached the collapsed Green Lion, the only light came from Lance’s armor, Pidge’s already drained of battery trying - and failing - to repair itself. But Lance seemed reluctant to put her down, even if she could hear his complaints that she was  _heavier than he expected_.

“Just set me down,” Pidge said. “I’ll get inside myself.”

Her best bet would be to work at reviving the Green Lion again, perhaps to seek the remnants of her consciousness inside her own head. If she closed her eyes, she could only  _just_  make it out, to sense something so weak but that should be so  _strong_ …

_Why are her eyes closed?_

Pidge opened her eyes and glared up at Lance. “I’m not dead yet, so no full ownership of the Mercury Gameflux for you.”

 _Thank God_. Externally, he scowled at her. “That’s not funny.”

Pidge sighed and patted Lance’s helmet. “I’m only channeling my inner Lance,” she said.

“Right, well, fine,” Lance grumbled. He leaned down and sat her on the ground right in front of the Green Lion’s jaw. “Let’s see how far inside you get before you fall.”

Despite his words, he hovered nearby, arms outstretched to catch her. But Pidge ignored him, the dull throb in her ankle, and the roiling of her belly as she turned around and balanced on all fours.

Her arms and legs failed her within ticks, her whole body weighing her down. She collapsed onto her stomach, Lance’s alarmed voice distant though he stood so close.

But his thoughts rang loud and clear through her brain.

_I shouldn_ _’t have let her do that._

Black spots started to crowd Pidge’s vision, but she managed to roll over and lie on her back, squinting at the dark canopy far overhead. A few stars peered down through the gap, and for a long few ticks she forgot where she was, why she lay in front of the Green Lion.

Did they crash land? Or was it a diplomatic mission gone wrong?

It was so hard to remember…

She rested her head on the ground, trying to get comfortable and only half-aware of Lance kneeling beside her. “C-can you help me take off my helmet?” she mumbled, so softly she doubted he’d hear her. “I-it’s pointless for me now.”

Lance sighed but nodded. He grasped her helmet between his hands and tugged it off, setting it aside. Then he ran his fingers through her hair.

 _I_ _’ve wanted to do_ that _for a while._

“I-I wanted—” Pidge cut herself off, uncertain what she meant to say. She struggled to think, to chase the next train of thought, but they all outraced her.

_But not like this._

“Like what?” Pidge wondered.

Lance took her hand in both of his. “Are you sure you can’t sense anything from the Green Lion?”

“N-n-nothing…” Pidge closed her eyes.

Maybe death wouldn’t be so bad.

Pidge’s list of regrets was blessedly short. She’d found Matt and their father, and she’d had adventures she never imagined in her wildest dreams. But she never apologized to her mother, never told her friends how much she appreciated and loved them, never flew Green to Earth and landed her right outside the Galaxy Garrison’s doorstep just to see the look on Commander Iverson’s face when she emerged from the cockpit.

She never grew her hair back out, never had her first kiss, and never told Lance how she felt.

The change started from her fingertips, before she’d truly lost consciousness. The numbness - the loss of nerves - crept over her body slowly. She couldn’t tell what happened, only that her whole body felt heavier than stone, weighed down by the force of the toxin.

It infected her mind, stole her memories and knowledge until her brain was a blank slate, one that no one and  _nothing_  could write on.

_Pidge_ _…_

What was that voice? And what did it say?

_Pidge._

Why did it insist on waking her? Let her sink deeper away from thought…

_Pidge, come on. I promised we_ _’d get back to the Castle safely, remember?_

There was nothing to remember, not when life fled and all that remained was her body.

_Pidge? You look the same, almost like you_ _’re sleeping, but I can tell something’s wrong._

Everything was fine.

 _It_ _’s the toxin, not the oxygen, isn’t it? You still feel warm and_ alive _…_

She was alive, but she also wasn’t, not truly.

 _I_ really _don_ _’t want to be full owner of the Gameflux, Pidge._

Why did that tease at her? She shouldn’t recognize  _humor_.

_I_ _’m so tempted to take off my helmet too just to kiss you, but that would be giving up…_

* * *

Something warm tickled the edge of what was left of her mind. But as she focused on it, it resolved into two  _different_  sensations. 

First was the low rumble of something alive but dormant, a predator in hibernation struggling towards consciousness. Aches and pains broke through her numbness, aches and pains that weren’t her own. She reached for them, seeking feeling - even one unpleasant - where an instant ago she would’ve shied away.

The second were the speedy, frantic thoughts of someone half-remembered, thoughts that touched something inside her. Her heart skipped a beat - she remembered she had a heart - and she reached out with her own mind.

 _Green,_ she said to the first.

 _Lance,_  she whispered to the second.

Pidge opened her eyes right as the ground shook beneath her and the Green Lion unleashed a roar. The sound filled her with excitement and set her heart pounding, and the Lion’s consciousness encircling her own loaned her body strength and distracted her from the aches in her muscles and head.

“H-holy quiznak,” a voice breathed beside her.

Pidge turned her head to see Lance, his eyes wide as they took in the Green Lion standing upright over them. His hand still held tightly to hers, so she squeezed. When he glanced at her, a wide smile split his face, and she raised her free hand to brush his helmeted face.

“I’m glad you didn’t take off your helmet just to kiss me,” she told him, her voice coming out raspy and soft. “Don’t die for something stupid.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, his face reddening. “A k-kiss with you isn’t stupid!” he stuttered.  _Quiznak, she_ heard _that?_

Pidge laughed, but a sudden coughing fit cut it off.

“Not out of the woods yet,” Lance said. He helped her sit upright again and rubbed her back.

“We’re quite literally in them,” she said once she caught her breath, “but we should be good to leave.”

The Green Lion crouched behind her, lighting up the forest around them. Motes of dust swam through the air, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves overhead.

“D-do you get the impression that Green just revived this whole section of forest?” Lance wondered, shooting a wary gaze around.

Pidge reached out to Green, who purred a confirmation. “She did,” she told him, “but I don’t really want to stick around to find living giant spiders in the vicinity. What do you think?”

“And I don’t want to stick around to see how long this lasts,” Lance agreed. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re still being exposed to too much oxygen.”

Pidge rubbed her eyes. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

This time, when Lance picked her up and cradled her against his chest, she didn’t protest.

“How’s your ankle?” Lance asked as they climbed into the cockpit.

Pidge inhaled deeply of air with more nitrogen and less oxygen, but after turning her ankle experimentally, she winced.

“So…not good,” Lance said.

“At least it’s my worst injury now,” Pidge pointed out with a smirk. She rested her forehead against his shoulder.

“Please don’t fall asleep until we’re in space, Pidge,” Lance said.

She smiled and tightened her hold on him. “I’ll do you one better and promise not to fall asleep until we’re in space  _and_  until I get that kiss.”

_Quiznak_ _…_

Pidge took advantage of Lance’s shock to convince him to set her down, and she managed to hobble to her seat without losing her footing. When she settled in, she sighed in relief to be off her ankle, her fingers wrapping around the flight sticks and a grin splitting her face.

“I’m happy you’re okay, girl,” she told the Green Lion.

She rumbled beneath her, and a beat later, Pidge bid her to crouch.

The Green Lion launched into the air and through the hole in the canopy, spurred on by Pidge’s touch. The forest beneath them faded away, its branches outlined in the glow of a full moon so much like Earth’s. She could just spy the river she’d spotted after climbing that tree, winding its way towards a gorge.

_I don_ _’t know what happened here to kill everything, but right now I don’t care enough to hypothesize._

She didn’t notice that Lance’s thoughts no longer touched hers until long after they escaped the planet’s gravity. They’d just ended a transmission after finally contacting the Castle, and her eyes drooped in exhaustion as she struggled to hold her head upright.

“I can’t hear you thinking anymore,” Pidge said.

“Yeah, what the quiznak  _was_  that?” Lance wondered. “That was…”

“Embarrassing?” Pidge suggested with a teasing smirk.

“Something like that,” Lance grumbled sheepishly without looking at her.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Pidge. “Maybe it was some quirk of the planet, or a side effect of the toxin.”

“You heard me before you were exposed though,” Lance reminded her.

“So a quirk of the planet.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at her. “Doesn’t explain why you heard me but I didn’t hear you.”

Pidge snorted. “To be honest, this is one mystery I’m happy leaving unsolved if it means never setting foot on a zombie planet ever again. Besides, what if it’s because of something stupid like our genders?”

Lance laughed. “Wow, that  _would_  be pretty silly, and not at all a theory I’d expect from you, of all people.”

“It’s barely a hypothesis,” Pidge retorted with a smile. “And embarrassing or not, your thoughts  _were_  fairly enlightening.”

Lance covered his face with a hand. “Don’t remind me,” he mumbled.

Pidge smirked, but a sudden yawn splitting her face disrupted any response she could’ve made. She realized there was little she wanted more than to rest her head on her arms and fall asleep on the Green Lion’s control panel.

But she  _did_  promise Lance…and perhaps his shoulder would make a decent pillow if she inquired nicely.

“So…” she said, turning to face him. Her cheeks then burned - only made less  _embarrassing_  by the wide-eyed look he shot her - as she asked, “How about that kiss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah the one-sided telepathy thing was unashamedly ripped from the Chaos Walking trilogy by...Patrick Ness is the author's name, i think. except unlike in _those_ books, no one killed anyone over it here :)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~they are good books - as far as i can remember - and worth a try because of their commentary on settler colonialism but in SPACE and bizarre environment-induced gender dynamics and also a year is thirteen months long the kids are Right and the adults suck more than anyone else~~


	71. A Pirate's Life for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "Damn auto-correct..."
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/174430823453/hey-41-damn-auto-correct-with-plance-pls)
> 
>  **warning** for what may be mild ableism

Pidge couldn’t believe her luck, stranded on a huge, isolated asteroid with almost no gravitational field and no ships in sight.

(Though, of course, space was so empty that she naturally had to suffer the probability of getting  _stuck_  in it.)

She clung to a crevice on the asteroid’s surface with one hand and her feet, her head still spinning from when the Red Lion expelled her into space. With the other hand, she fiddled with the comm in her armor, seeking a signal strong enough to contact someone -  _anyone_  - nearby, or at least within a few light-years of her position.

 _Stupid Lance, stupid so-called_ _‘valor’, stupid misguided attempt at being ‘heroic’, I’m going to_ kill _him the next time I see him_ _…_

Pidge scowled when all she found with her comm was static, but it faltered the tick she thought of Lance.

_Quiznak, I hope he_ _’s okay…_

Her heart sank into her stomach, heavy with dread and worry. She tried to push it out of her mind - she had herself to fear for right now - but every time she returned her attention to the task at hand, her thoughts drifted back to Lance. 

 _We_ both _would_ _’ve stood a better chance if I’d stayed with you, dammit._

Pidge checked her biometrics with her armor’s systems, and when she found nothing amiss - her life support still at full capacity thanks to the wonder of ten thousand-year-old Altean technology - she sagged, resting her forehead against the asteroid.

_Castle on the other side of a wormhole, Galra ship blocking communications, nothing to amplify a signal or detect one that isn_ _’t within range…_

Empty-handed and alone, Pidge searched again.

After what felt like vargas - after her stomach growled and her throat turned parched and her eyes drooped with exhaustion and the air her life support recycled grew stale - she found something.

Static crackled, louder than any other instant, and Pidge straightened her back against the asteroid with a start.

“Hello?” Pidge said, her voice hoarse. “Is there anyone there? Come in, this is—”

_What if they_ _’re an enemy?_

Pidge swallowed and said, “I’m stranded alone in the middle of an asteroid field without a ship. You’re the first vessel I’ve been able to hail. Can you  _please_  rescue me?”

The static quieted, and Pidge’s heartbeat echoed in her ears as sweat slid down her face. She pinched her eyes shut, preparing herself to hear the signal go dead, until:

“Give us your approximate position,  _lana_ , and we’ll be there in doboshes.”

“Well…” Pidge scanned as much of her surroundings as she could with her cuff, letting it view the stars as she saw them, then sent them through the same signal. “Is that enough information?”

“Oh, it’s perfect,  _lana_!” her savior said. “Hold on.”

The connection clicked off - her heart skipped a beat at the sudden silence - and Pidge wondered, “What the quiznak does  _lana_  mean?”

* * *

Pirates.

The ship that picked her up belonged to  _pirates_.

They cuffed Pidge’s wrists behind her back before she could so much as thank them for their rescue, before she could take off her helmet and inhale the breathable air inside.

At least she could savor the gravity dragging her down when her knees hit the floor.

“You didn’t tell us you’re a Paladin of Voltron,  _lana_ ,” a humanoid alien with one eye at the center of his forehead said. He crossed his arms and clicked his tongue in an eerily human expression of disappointment.

“This is why,” Pidge grumbled. She tried to wrench her shoulder from the grip of the part-Galra pirate that held her down, but her only reaction was to squeeze her hard enough she could feel it through her armor.

“Well, then to the brig you go!” announced the cyclops alien with an unfriendly smirk. “At least give us the next varga to decide your fate.” His single eye glinted while the other pirates jeered and honked and crowed.

Pidge stared at him with wide eyes, fear churning in her stomach and making her heart threaten to burst its way through her ribcage. “I—”

“Save your threats and promises, Green Paladin,” the Galra pirate said. She grabbed her arm and tugged her upright, and without waiting for Pidge to find her footing, dragged her away from the crew.

* * *

They confiscated her armor and left her only with the insulated black suit she wore underneath, though not before Pidge slid her bayard under the thin mattress in her tiny, square cell. She tried to keep a wrist cuff too, but the pirate that came to collect was smart enough to count the pieces.

She was relieved she had the foresight and the  _time_  to hide the bayard in a different place.

But much good it did her while she was locked in a cell.

Her options for escape lay heavily on her mind, but the prospects were thin. She’d seen so little of the ship - not even the bridge - since coming aboard, so unless she could talk a crew member into giving her a tour…

She could talk a crew member into giving her a tour!

(She avoided thinking that it was exactly the sort of thing Lance would do.)

* * *

Pidge could scarcely believe how straightforward it was to convince the pirate that brought her meals to show her around the ship.

The ship’s main engineer was a woman with unseeing blind eyes, but she compensated for the disability with long, bat-like ears that spun towards the slightest hint of noise. Tall and willowy with an easy smile, she was  _exactly_  the type Lance would go for, Pidge observed. 

(She ignored the flare of jealousy that rose within her; now was  _not_  the time.)

She introduced herself as Mara and grinned at Pidge. “You’re lucky it was Heli’s turn to cook your first meal. If it had been my turn, you would’ve spent the next few vargas kneeling next to the toilet.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at the bowl of…some kind of stew, made from a starchy potato-like plant, a vegetable that looked and  _tasted_  as pungent as an onion, and a meat that she suspected was the alien equivalent of “mystery meat”. “That’s a…relief to hear,” Pidge said.

This time when she spooned the bite into her mouth, she didn’t grimace, though Mara wouldn’t have seen it either way.

She set aside her bowl after finishing only half of it, the scent emanating from it turning her stomach, and mused that she even preferred  _Coran_ _’s_  cooking to this stew.

“Say,” Mara said, still lingering beyond her cell door, “are you  _really_ the Green Paladin?”

“The one and only,” Pidge said without humor. “What gave it away?”

“The green armor, of course!” Mara retorted, chuckling.

Pidge raised an eyebrow, unsure what she found funny…until she recalled that she was blind. She fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve and muttered, “I guess it would’ve…”

“I did have a question, though,” Mara said. “Are those all the real Paladins in  _The Voltron Show_?”

Pidge turned her head so fast she almost gave herself whiplash. “What?”

“ _The Voltron Show_.” Mara clasped her hands together, twiddling her thumbs. “I wondered if those were all of you or if they were just actors.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, but she cleared her throat and wondered, “Why do you want to know?”

Mara smiled. “I was curious. I  _am_  a fan, by the way, and wanted to know if there would be more shows to look forward to.”

Pidge, stunned, could only stutter, “Uh, w-well, Voltron has other things to worry about at the moment.”  _Like finding me_ _…and Lance._

Her face fell, and she said, “Oh, then, maybe you could tell me more about everyone?”

“I…”

Pidge decided to seize her chance.

She smirked - working to keep the smugness from her voice - and said, “I’d love to tell you everything, but why don’t you give me a tour?”

* * *

Mara showed Pidge some of the inner workings of the ship - which she learned was named  _Outlaw Heart_. She gestured to every bit and bob, every nook and cranny, with easy, pinpointing each by sound (or so Pidge assumed).

She observed it all with curiosity, wondering where, exactly, her salvation lay. Sabotaging the mechanisms of the  _Outlaw Heart_  and holding them hostage?

”You remind me of Hunk,” Pidge said when Mara clasped her hands together while explaining something.

“The Yellow Paladin?” Mara wrinkled her nose.

“He’s not really like he is in the show!” Pidge reassured her. “He’s actually a genius and“—she flinched when Mara hit her forehead against a low air duct—”not  _nearly_  as clumsy as you are.”

A beat later she heard the offense Mara could take from her words, but before she could stammer an apology, Mara grinned. “Oh, I  _knew_  I wouldn’t regret asking you!”

Hijacking the ship for long enough to find an entity allied with Voltron and the Coalition?

”Tell me about Keith!”

“He’s grumpy and passionate and…” Pidge sighed and admitted, “He’s…not around so much anymore.”

Mara frowned. “Is that not him in the show?”

Pidge laughed. “That’s the thing; Princess Allura actually played him in  _The Voltron Show_.”

Or, perhaps, communicate with the Castle by sending a transmission from the  _Outlaw Heart_ ’s bridge?

”What about the Blue Paladin? He seems interesting!”

“Every other fan has a crush on Shiro, but you choose  _Lance_?” Pidge rolled her eyes while she inspected the ship’s navigation and communication systems as covertly as she could manage. Any tick, someone else could walk in and catch taking advantage of the engineer’s blindness…

Mara held her hands behind her back and said, “I never mentioned anything about a crush.”

“Really?” Pidge raised an eyebrow, barely lifting her attention from the comm station. Could she send a distress signal strong enough it would reach the Castle? “Too bad, though. He would’ve loved to hear that.”

(Maybe from anyone but  _her_ …)

“I’m sure,” Mara said doubtfully. “Are you ready for the next part of the tour?”

“Oh, just a tick,” Pidge said.

She reached for the comm, mentally running through the steps that would project a distress—

“Mara!” a new voice bellowed.

Pidge jumped backwards - and straight into the waiting arms of the part-Galra crew member responsible for manhandling her.

“Oh, First Mate Yorik!” Mara said, straightening her posture. “I—”

“Let our prisoner onto the  _bridge_?” The crew member - First Mate Yorik - picked Pidge up as easily as she would a pillow and threw her over his shoulder.

She scowled, lashing out with fists and kicks while anger made her clumsy and careless about where they landed. But her blows proved ineffectual, the first mate ignoring them as he leveled a furious gaze at Mara. 

“Did you not see that she was trying to send a signal to her allies?” First Mate Yorik demanded.

“I-I didn’t—”

“Of course you didn’t!” Yorik stormed out of the bridge, Pidge bouncing in his grip. “Why Captain Nubo took on a  _blind_  engineer…”

Pidge smacked his back and glared at the ground, blood rushing to her head. But she yelled, “Let me go, you bastard! Let me—”

She gasped when Yorik jerked her around and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bunk in her cell. She pinched her eyes shut and clutched her head, only distantly hearing the cell door slamming shut as Yorik locked her in.

“I don’t know what you said to Mara to convince her to let you out,” he growled, “but rest assured if anything like it happens again, you’ll regret it.”

Pidge peeked out from between her fingers in time to see him storm away. Then she sighed and lay down on the bunk to consider her next plan.

* * *

The cyclops alien - who introduced himself as Captain Nubo - visited her within a couple vargas of Yorik “escorting” her back, standing just outside her cell. “I would like to apologize for my first mate’s behavior,” he said. “I’m afraid he sees you as an enemy more than most aboard the  _Outlaw_ _’s Heart_.”

“I wonder why…” Pidge grumbled.

“Oh, it’s not what you think,  _lana_ ,” Captain Nubo said, chuckling. “He’s never much liked the legitimate side of the law, Galra or not, but his mother did, and, well…”

Pidge bit her lip and guessed, “She died in the war.”

Captain Nubo hummed, not quite validating her suspicion, then wondered, “Aside from that, are you enjoying your stay,  _lana_?”

“It’s better than a five-star hotel,” Pidge replied icily. “ _They_  would’ve made me keep the handcuffs.”

Captain Nubo laughed, a sound that burst out from deep within his belly, and said, “Oh, if we weren’t natural enemies I might’ve asked you to join my crew.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“We know enough about Voltron to have an idea of your skills.” The captain curled his dark green goatee around a finger. “We find our tech in need of update, every… _legitimate_  party far outstripping our capabilities.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Pidge asked. “Aren’t you worried I’ll exploit that?”

“Because you haven’t already tried?” Nubo shrugged and admitted, “Perhaps I’m hoping that you’ll abandon Voltron and join us before this is done.”

“Not a chance,” Pidge said. She stood and paced to the cell door and met his eyes with a glare. “Voltron needs me, and I—”  _I need them too._

But she wouldn’t confess to that, not to a man intent on making himself her enemy.

“Very well,” Nubo said. “I’m sorry to hear that,  _lana_ , but I suppose I  _should_  tell you what the crew and I have decided about your fate.”

“What?” Pidge snapped when he paused for too long. “Spit it out.”

“It’s simple, really. For now you remain here.”

“What the quiznak do you mean by  _for now_?” Pidge demanded.

“ _Lana_ , you’re a valuable commodity on this side of the universe.” Nubo smiled. “On  _most_  sides of the universe, in fact.”

Pidge ignored the sweat dampening her palms and hoped that her shock didn’t show on her face. “All right,” she said, somehow keeping her voice from trembling. “Explain.”

“My crew is divided, you see,” Nubo said. “Half wish to ransom you to some fragment of the Galra Empire, and the other half would prefer to ransom you to Voltron. Each has their reasons for choosing who they will, but neither option is desirable.” 

_Ransom me to Voltron_ _…_

“What about me?” Pidge said, wrapping her sweaty hands around the bars to her cell and standing on her toes. “Does my opinion matter?”

“What do you think?”

Her heart plummeted, a rock falling through the air from a great height. “I—”

“What benefits the Empire’s factions or even what benefits Voltron can scarcely benefit my crew,” Nubo explained, his cordial tone evaporating. “So you see what I must do? And until we decide, a prisoner you remain.”

Pidge stared at him, unable to formulate a proper response.

_I could kill Lance_ _…if he wasn’t someone’s prisoner too._

“What’s the matter,  _lana_?” Nubo inquired, his single eye blinking slowly. “You look like you wish to ask me something.”

 _Many somethings,_ Pidge thought, but aloud she said, “What does  _lana_  mean?”

Nubo smirked. “It’s an affectionate name you would call a child.”

The retort rose automatically to her lips, “I’m  _not_  a child, I’m—”

“A Paladin of Voltron,” Nubo conceded, “but don’t you agree that it’s a childish thing to be stranded in space without a ship or much means of communicating with your own allies?”

Pidge blushed, averting her eyes out of embarrassment. “It wasn’t my fault,” she muttered. She curled her hands into fists as a tear rolled down her cheek.

 _They_ _’ll find him first,_ she told herself.  _They_ have _to._

“I will leave you to mourn your lot,” Captain Nubo said, “and I hope you won’t risk leaving your cell again.”

As his footsteps retreated down the hall, Pidge leaned against the wall. She slid down, hugging her legs to her chest and pressing her forehead to her knees.

She’d attempt another escape soon, she promised, but first she’d cry.

* * *

She was ready the next time Mara opened her cell door to deliver her a meal. 

Pidge activated her bayard.

It morphed into the grapple, so silently Mara’s bat-like ears didn’t pick up on it.

Pidge swallowed her shame, heart pounding in anticipation, and stepped behind Mara, holding the blade to her throat.

“I’m  _really_  sorry about this, Mara,” Pidge admitted, “but I  _have_  to get back to my team. They need me.” 

Mara stiffened, her ear twitching. “I understand, Green Paladin.”

“Then take me to the bridge again.”

“No.”

Pidge’s eyes widened, her breath catching in shock. “What?”

“I admire your loyalty to your team,” Mara said, “but you think you’re not the only one loyal to a crew?”

“I—”

“I don’t think you’ll kill me to make a point,” Mara continued. “I have no doubt you’re capable if the situation demands it, but I’m not Voltron’s enemy.”

“Y-you don’t know what I’d do!” Pidge retorted, blood boiling with anger and her back rigid. “You don’t know what I did to rescue my family, and you don’t know what I’d do for my team if they were in the same danger!”

“I’m not your enemy—”

“You’re not,” Pidge conceded. She swallowed around a sudden lump in her throat and blinked hot tears from her eyes and  _quiznak_  why wasn’t she done crying? “B-but one of my teammates  _is_  in danger and I  _have_  to go save him! What about that d-don’t you understand?”

Mara sagged. “I’m sorry, Pidge,” she whispered, “but I can’t let you.”

Pidge closed her eyes. “You  _have_  to, Mara. I need to see my team - all my family. I need—” She sniffed when she tasted salt on her lips. “I-I need to t-tell him I—” She lowered her bayard and whispered, “It wasn’t his fault.”

Her bayard slipped out of her sweaty hand as she choked on her first sob.

Something warm engulfed her, arms wrapped securely around her and rocking her back and forth while she cried.

 _Stop,_ she told herself.  _Stop crying in front of strangers._

“I’ll talk to Captain Nubo,” Mara promised. “I’ll tell him you need to rescue your friend.”

Pidge bit her lip, struggling to get her sobs under control. She trembled, but Mara still held her.

“Tell me more about him,” she said, voice soothing. “Which Paladin is he?”

“I-I don’t know anymore,” Pidge admitted with a shaky laugh. She rubbed her itchy eyes and added, “But h-he’s more than he seems…”

* * *

“Captain Nubo wants you brought to the bridge.”

Pidge opened her eyes. She’d been trying to sleep since Mara left, but between the promise and her fear for Lance, she hadn’t managed more than a restless doze.

So she sat up and faced First Mate Yorik.

He unlocked and opened her cell door with a creak of metal hinges. “What are you waiting for, Paladin?” he demanded when she just looked at him. “The captain wishes to speak with you.”

Pidge blinked, her brain sluggish and exhausted, but as she processed Yorik’s words her breath caught in her throat.

Hope reignited.

Pidge shot to her feet and skipped to the door. She tried to slip past the first mate, but he caught her arm and pulled her back.

“What’s your rush?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“The sooner I return to my team, the sooner—”

“Nothing’s decided,” he reminded her. “And I never said  _anything_  about your return.”

(Well, it was obvious where  _he_  stood…)

Pidge glared at him but accepted his escort up to the bridge.

“What changed?” she demanded, her gaze meeting Captain Nubo’s. “Was it just what Mara said?”

Captain Nubo grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “We are not so different, you and I, your team and my crew. And to hear the rumors, even one of yours is part-Galra.” He blinked - or maybe winked; Pidge couldn’t quite tell when he only had one pair of eyelids - and said, “Or, if you wish to believe I was moved by yours tears and had a crisis of conscious, I won’t stop you.

“So…how would you like to make a deal with us,  _lana_?”

Her heart sank; of  _course_  it couldn’t be so easy…

“That depends,” Pidge said, though a part of her desperately wanted to accept whatever deal he offered, if only it meant finding Lance and the rest of her team safe. “What do you want?”

Nubo sighed. “Perhaps you can guess.”

“A…ransom? I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“All right.” To her amazement, he agreed easily, but… “I will send a transmission telling we have the Green Paladin.”

“Wait, I need to reassure them that I’m safe and that this isn’t a trap, Captain,” Pidge said.

Captain Nubo considered her, frowning slightly. “They must pay your ransom before we deliver you then.”

“Great!” Pidge grinned, her heart already pounding and the words she would say rushing through her head.

“In GAC.”

Pidge slumped. “We don’t…the Coalition doesn’t deal in GAC.”

“Then I’m afraid—”

“Wait!” Pidge said before Nubo could do more than turn his back. She wrenched her arm from First Mate Yorik’s firm grip and stepped towards the captain at the comm station. “I-I can upgrade your ship’s systems instead, and maybe even convince Princess Allura to give your crew amnesty - or, well, maybe convince her to try to convince the Coalition to give you amnesty because frankly I  _hate_  politics and I have  _no_ —”

Yorik cleared his throat, cutting her off.

Pidge smiled sheepishly at the captain. “I can’t promise more than to talk to her.”

“Well, that is as much as Mara promised you…and if you  _do_  fix our systems that would be enough.”

“ _After_  I contact the Castle of Lions,” Pidge insisted.

“Very well.” Captain Nubo made quick work - quick enough that Pidge suspected he’d already prepared it - setting up a transmission. “I’m afraid it’ll be text-based correspondence in the Galra script. Can you manage?”

Pidge bit her lip. It was scarcely ideal, but… “Fine,” she said. “They can translate it.”

Under Captain Nubo’s single watchful eye, Pidge composed her first message:

_Allura, it_ _’s Pidge. I was captured by pirates and they want to make a trade. Ask me to verify._

Pidge tapped her foot, her hands sweating while she waited for a reply that came faster than she dared to expect:

_Pidge! Verify:  what did you name the Galra droid you reprogrammed?_

Pidge sighed, freed of a burden, as she wrote back:

_I named him Rover. Allura, is everyone safe? Do you know what happened to Lance?_

_Everyone is safe, Pidge. And we recovered Lance. He_ _’s now recovering in a healing pod. The first thing he asked when we found him was if we’d found you, so I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you once you return to us._

Pidge covered her face in her hands and muffled a laugh, but not before irritation took hold again when she remembered how, exactly, she and Lance got separated:

_Good, because when he_ _’s awake I’m going to kiss him._

_Do you want me to tell him that if he wakes up before you get back?_

Blood rushed to her face when she reread the message she sent. “I—what—no—” She hurriedly corrected:

_Wait no don_ _’t I meant that I’m going to kill him! Damn auto-correct…_

Her heart pounded wildly - quiznak, it  _never_  beat this fast even when she was in danger! - while she waited for Allura to reply again:

_I asked Hunk what auto-correct is. He_ _’s not convinced your statement was a mistake._

Pidge longed to return to her cell and bury her face in a pillow, where no one could see her red cheeks or hear her frustrated scream.


	72. Shades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dialogue prompt of sorts: "I don’t care if a space ghost kills me, I will not be interrupted when I’m about to kiss you again."
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff and a bit of angst and very very mild horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/174970207273/do-you-accept-requests-sorry-i-dont-know-how)
> 
> Setting very much inspired by Threnody from _Shadows for Silence in the Forests of Hell_ , which is an excellent novella btw

_No running from the shades,_ their guide had advised them, and a lot of good  _that_  bit of knowledge did them.

For all that the shades were immaterial, barely distinct black shapes blotting out the stars, they could still touch them, could still brush their skin and kill the cells they came into contact. The guide herself favored her right leg, her other nearly dead thanks to a close encounter.

But they ran anyway, because when faced with ghosts intent on draining the life from their bodies, Pidge’s oxygen-deprived brain couldn’t think of a better solution.

 _Carry silver with you,_  her next piece of advice had been, indicating the sack of metallic powder hanging from her belt.

But Pidge had laughed, said they wouldn’t need such a weapon so difficult to aim, not when they had no intention of attracting these  _shades_  in the first place.

(She was glad Lance listened though.)

 _Blood draws them too,_ the guide then said.

Pidge rolled her eyes, because they weren’t visiting this desolate moon with the intention to fight anyone…

…except they’d found no one  _to_  fight, the rebellion outpost desolate, the mystery of why they’d been unable to contact solved. 

Shades overran the rebels posted her, multiplying their own numbers.

Each shade bore its own shape, resembling that of the living being it once was. And while she and Lance huddled inside their small ring of silver power, Pidge examined each one, trying to guess from where each one originated.

“That one was Olkari,” she said, pointing to one with a slight figure. “And I’d bet good money that one’s—”

“Pidge,” Lance cut her off, “please stop.”

Pidge sighed and glanced at him. “Right, I’m sorry.” She shifted a little closer to him, for without the activity to distract her, fear set back in, making it difficult to breathe.

Lance rested his head on hers. “Guess we’re stuck here until sunrise,” he said.

“Guess so.” Pidge scowled and recalled yet  _another_  warning they should’ve heeded:

_Don_ _’t be caught out after dark, Paladins. Even your Lions won’t be invulnerable here._

“Well,” Lance said with a weak laugh, “I could be stuck with worse company.”

Pidge smiled, the half-assed compliment warming her chest.  _God_ , she could be pathetic sometimes, at least where Lance was concerned.

Which led her to quip, “On the other hand, I’m not too sure.”

Lance elbowed her in the side.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, nudging him in retaliation.

It dissolved into a tussle that ended with Lance on his back and Pidge straddling him, her hands on either side of his head propping her up. Her face was hot and her heart pounded, with both exertion and something  _else_ …

Lance stared up at her with his eyes wide. His hands rested on her waist, and when Pidge met his gaze something in it softened. “Pidge—”

She leaned down and kissed him.

He gasped, a quick intake of breath that made her blood rush, but when their noses bumped - when his lips only just started to move against hers - Pidge remembered that  _maybe_  this wasn’t welcome.

Before she could pull away, Lance threaded his fingers through her hair and pressed her face closer to his.

Pidge’s head spun with disbelief, unable but more than willing to believe what was happening - that impulse drove her to kiss him, that he even wanted to kiss her back.

That this could happen on a moon only inhabited by them - and by the dead.

Lance shoved her off as soon as that thought crossed her head. Her shoulder struck the ground at an odd angle, and she winced at a spike of pain traveling up her arm, but before she could complain Lance was on his knees and closing a gap in their protective ring of silver power while a shade tried to test its luck.

An immaterial black tentacle reached towards Lance, the tip inches from his face.

And Lance didn’t see it, too busy fixing the powder that they’d disturbed in the midst of their…kissing.

“Lance,” Pidge hissed as her heart jumped into her throat, “watch out!”

He glanced up at the sound of her voice, eyes wide as he lurched away from the shade, a gasp escaping him.

The shade hesitated, apparently startled, and Pidge took advantage of it to lurch forward and fix the ring of silver herself.

It recoiled, tentacle pulled back while it retreated back towards its fellows.

Pidge caught her short breath, then sagged in relief. She glanced at Lance and said, “Let’s…be more careful while we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, nodding. He collapsed onto his back, exhaling a single stuttering breath before he burst into laughter.

Pidge sat beside him - careful to stay within the ring without disturbing it - and glared at him. “What’s so funny?”

“Imagine us surviving everything that’s nearly killed us,” Lance said, wiping an invisible tear from the corner of his eye, “only to be killed by something already dead.”

“I-it wouldn’t have killed  _you_ ,” Pidge protested. “Only the cells—”

“That tentacle thing was right by my forehead when you warned me,” Lance pointed out with a wry smile. “My brain is  _right there_.”

“Well—”

“And don’t you dare say something sarcastic like  _you have one of those?_ ” Lance grumbled, crossing his arms. “Because I must have  _something_  in there for you to want to kiss me.” He frowned, a wrinkle appearing on his forehead as he wondered, “Why  _did_  you do that?”

Pidge’s palms sweat inside her gloves and her face warmed all over again underneath his probing gaze. “I—because I wanted to?” She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Because I…really like you, I guess.”

She couldn’t look at him, so she turned her eyes onto the threatening shades beyond the ring.

“You  _guess_?” Lance said, tone incredulous, but when Pidge found the courage to glance back at him, his face was red. “You  _guess_  you like me? Well, then I  _guess_  I want to kiss you again.”

Pidge bit her lip, then decided that fighting a smile wasn’t worthwhile. “Then why don’t you?”

“Because”—Lance sat up and gestured around them—”there are these  _things_ —” He cut himself off and rolled his eyes. “You know what, Pidge?”

Pidge grinned, her heart pounding - and for now, she knew not a trace of fear. “What?”

“I don’t care if a space ghost kills me.” He scooted towards her and gently cupped her face with both hands. “I won’t be interrupted when I’m about to kiss you again.”


	73. The Thundering Glade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the AU mashup prompt: "stranded due to bad weather" and "royals" (without royals though)
> 
> Fantasy AU, mostly fluff with a little bit of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175132936698/stranded-due-to-bad-weather-in-a-royal-au-or)

“If you’re the first thing I see when I wake up in the morning, it’ll have been too soon.”

“Well, I can’t stand the sight of your face right now either!”

Pidge takes off her dripping glasses and pockets them. “And now I don’t have to see yours!”

Lance turns his back to her, arms crossed and shoulders stiff, pretending that there’s no guilt weighing down his heart and nearly overcoming his anger. “Any sight is better than you right now,” he grumbles, eyes fixed on a tree trunk while thunder rumbles overhead, the air thick with the scent of the storm and damp earth - and thick with the tension brought on by their argument.

A flicker of hurt crosses Pidge’s face, but she’s quick to retort scathingly, “And guess what,  _Sir_  Lance?  _None_  of this would’ve happened if you’d let  _me_  direct our way!”

“We are  _not_  lost!” Lance tells her what feels like the fiftieth time in the last hour. “We’re only stranded in a storm that we wouldn’t have been able to avoid anyway!”

“Oh, really?” Pidge steps around him so that they’re face to face, but when Lance spins again so that she’s not in his line of sight, she growls in frustration. “Because you know this area as well as I do?”

“I’ve traveled all over Altea!” he says, heat rushing to his face.

(At least his anger would keep him warm in this downpour…)

“We’re not  _in_  Altea anymore, you idiot! We’re in the Thundering Glade, which is unclaimed land between Altea and Arus, which  _also_  happens to be where I’m from!”

Her words stun Lance, and some of the fury seeps out of him. “I…didn’t know that.” He glances over his shoulder at her, taking in her own defensive posture, her small fists clenched at her sides and the glare on her face. “In my defense, Pidge, you make a very convincing Altean.”

Rainwater soaks through his cloak and into his hair, a gust of wind tugging at his cloak and making him shiver, but Pidge just stares incredulously at him through her own dripping bangs.

“Th-that wasn’t even one of the things about myself I was hiding!” she exclaims, throwing up her arms before burying her face in her hands.

“You never told anyone either,” Lance points out. He turns to face her properly, no longer as angry as he was a moment ago. “And it’s not the most  _surprising_  thing I’ve found out about you.”

“At least you didn’t react so badly this time,” Pidge agrees with a short nod. Then she smirks and adds, “ _That_  I think I’ll remember for the rest of my life.”

Lance’s cheeks warm at the reminder, but he clears his throat and says, “It won’t be a long life if we don’t get out of this forest.”

Lightning lights up the overhanging tree branches, a thunder clap sounding so close the ground trembles beneath his feet. And a heartbeat later, something hard strikes his head.

“Ow!” Lance says, rubbing at the offending spot.

The sound of the rain changes, like that of pellets colliding with bricks.

Lance recognizes hail when he sees it.

“Quiznak,” he mutters, pulling his hood up to cover his head - though much good that will do him against hail. “We need to find shelter.”

Pidge follows suit, shivering as she bundles herself further into her cloak and falling into step beside him. “I told you this forest wasn’t much of a shortcut, Lance,” she gripes, though for once there’s not much bite in her tone.

“And on the way back I won’t make this mistake,” Lance tells her.

“Assuming there  _is_  a way back,” Pidge mumbles morosely, voice so low another thunderclap nearly drowns it out.

“W-what do you mean?” he asks.

Pidge steps close enough to him that their hands brush. “It’s b-better if you don’t know.”

“Pidge—”

To his surprise, she takes his hand and squeezes, her fingers warm around his. “I’m a royal scribe,” she says. “I read and write documents that I wish I didn’t have to.”

Lance can’t help smirking. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

Pidge elbows him, making him wince, and responds, “I wish the situation didn’t call for me to be here.”

“In the Thundering Glade?” Lance quirks an eyebrow at her.

“Going to war.” She sags, her feet dragging either with exhaustion or sadness or both. “Missing my family.”

Lance’s heart drops at the nearly matter-of-fact way in which she speaks. “I’m sorry, Pidge.”

“I am too.” She glances sideways at him. “I’m sorry I had to pretend to be a boy just to steal documents that didn’t even have anything useful in them. And I’m sorry I blackmailed you into helping me.”

Lance halts mid-step just to stare at her, his jaw dropping. “I…you are?”

“Yes, you…didn’t deserve that, Lance.” Pidge lets go of his hand to clasp hers together, and when she smiles sheepishly she says, “You weren’t much help anyway.”

Lance scowls. “Really? You’re ruining this nice moment we’re having—”

“I’m soaked and cold; how is that  _nice_?”

“—to insult me?”

Pidge laughs. “Well, you were helpful until you refused to give me the quiznaking map.”

“We’ll be fine,” Lance reassures her, resting a hand on her shoulder and steering her back onto their path. “We have more dangerous things than a little rain to look forward to at the encampment.”

“Lance,” Pidge says, “it’s hailing and there’s lightning and I’m  _very_  cold and we haven’t seen  _one_  place we can stop to pitch a tent.”

“That’s a drawback,” Lance concedes, but he still plasters a smile onto his face. “We can always double back out?”

Pidge pauses and looks in the direction they came, along a muddy path that didn’t even reveal their footprints. “I don’t think we’d be able to find our way back.”

“Well, this is the Thundering Glade, right?” Lance says, starting to grasp at straws. He’s always liked the rain, liked the way it washed away all that seemed dirty in the world and left peace in its wake, but he can’t imagine a storm that never ends. “It’s under an ancient curse, isn’t it? Maybe we can break it.”

Pidge snorts, then bursts into laughter so hard she doubles over. And though Lance may usually feel a flash of triumph that he made her laugh, he rolls his eyes, irritated that she’s not taking his suggestion seriously.

“I’m not joking, Pidge.”

She straightens once she catches her breath and says, “Wait, y-you’re not?” When Lance shakes his head, she sighs. “It would’ve been a good joke, and no, we can’t break it.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one knows how,” Pidge points out. “This storm’s been here since the ancients walked the land; sometimes it changes - like when it started hailing - but it never weakens.”

“But all curses can be broken, right?” Lance says. He rests his hands on his hips, holding her gaze.

Pidge frowns and admits, “Hypothetically…”

“Then all we have to do is find out how to break this curse!” Lance flings an arm around her shoulders, steering her down the path while he contemplates.

“That can be anything, Lance,” Pidge says, sighing. “My brother was cursed to speak backwards when he was young, too.”

“Interesting curse,” Lance muses. “How did you understand him?”

“We…grew accustomed to it,” Pidge says, smiling slightly, “but it was eventually broken.”

“How?”

“It was…random. My mother was squeezing a lemon while cooking. A few drops got into Matt’s eye, and next thing we knew we understood his swearing perfectly.” Pidge chuckles, gaze faraway as if watching the memory play out in front of her.

“So the curse on the Thundering Glade—”

“—can be broken by  _anything_.”

Lance sags and withdraws his arm so they can walk without lurching, though he’s tempted to take her hand again, if only to feel a hint of her warmth. His feet sink into the muddy ground, a wet squeak meeting his ears with every step either of them takes. And his limbs are heavy with the exhaustion of trekking through bad weather all day.

At least it’s no longer hailing.

Lance racks his brain, trying to think of everything he’s ever heard of the Thundering Glade, everything from fact to rumor - not that he knows how to tell the two apart. “There’s this…legend I’ve heard about here.”

Pidge jumps, jerking out of her own thoughts, and says, “What is it?”

Lance grins. “Supposedly only  _lovers_  stay dry in the Thundering Glade.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Oh, it’s too bad it’s not the princess you’re escorting then.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “The princess and I aren’t—”

“I know,” Pidge cuts him off, gaze sliding away from him and fixing on the path ahead. “You only wish you were.”

He nearly stumbles over an extended tree root, and only Pidge’s hand shooting out to grab his elbow keeps him upright. “I-I do not!” he retorts.

It’s the truth, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he felt anything much more than camaraderie towards the princess, a long time since a kind word from her could make him blush. Now, if he thinks of someone holding his hand, of someone teasing him and smiling at him and even  _kissing_  him, the face that enters his head isn’t that of the princess.

No, the face he imagines is freckled by the sun and stained with ink, a round face that hides a sharp tongue and a fierce wit.

It’s a face that scowls and has him wondering what else he might’ve done wrong.

“Right,” Pidge says. “Let’s just find somewhere we can rest for a few hours.”

But a powerful wind roars through the forest, driving the rain faster and nearly drowning out the sound of her voice. Branches creak overhead, ancient tree trunks trembling with the force of the storm.

The oppressive wind tears at his cloak, plastering it to his body, and blows Pidge into his side. He doesn’t stumble, but how firmly her arms wrap around his abdomen gives him pause.

“Are you all right, Pidge?” Lance shouts to be heard over the wind pushing against them.

He feels more than sees Pidge nod.

Lance keeps a firm grip on his hood with one hand while his other holds onto Pidge, his arm around her back. They push through the wind, and he walks with his head bowed and eyes narrowed against the cold rain.

Lightning flashes, so close the charged scent of something  _burning_  reaches them right as thunder booms.

“H-holy quiznak!” Lance gasps, his heart pounding. When Pidge’s grip on him tightens, he dares a glance at her.

She’s staring straight ahead, eyes wide and peering out from underneath the hood of her cloak. So Lance follows her gaze.

A tall and  _wide_  tree teeters, its bark creaking while a tendril of dark smoke rises from its base. A beat later it topples with a crash that dislodges soaked leaves from other trees and makes the ground tremble beneath their feet.

The fallen tree lies across their path. If they walked faster - if, perhaps, they hadn’t paused for an  _argument_  - it could’ve crushed them on its way down.

The wind dies down, but neither Lance nor Pidge loosens their grip on the other.

“It’s…shelter,” Pidge mutters, glancing up at him.

“You think so?” Lance says, his own voice low. The rain plastered her bangs against her face, so he pushes them away from her eyes with a fingertip.

Pidge flushes and clears her throat. “It’s more sheltered than anywhere else we’ve come across.”

Lance examines the fallen tree, noting that it’s nearly as wide as he is tall…and perfect to keep them out of the wind if it blows so powerfully again. But he’s reluctant to let go of Pidge, a silly part of him worried she’ll be washed or whisked away if he so much as steps away from her.

(The other part enjoys her proximity and the press of her body more than he should.)

Pidge pulls away first and says, “The tent won’t build itself.”

They erect the tent against the fallen tree, and once inside Lance eagerly tugs off his muddy boots and shrugs out of his drenched cloak and runs his fingers through his damp hair.

Pidge stares at a point over his head, but before he can ask her what she’s looking at she laughs.

He frowns. “What?”

She beckons him closer in response, and when he leans towards her, she smooths his hair down. “Your hair was sticking up. It looked…interesting.”

Lance rolls his eyes and grumbles, “Thank you.”

Her face is close enough to his that her warm breath blooms over his skin, and when her eyes meet his he holds his breath.

A fat drop of cold water strikes his forehead and slides down his face.

Pidge giggles when he pinches his eyes shut, and the moment breaks upon realization that the canvas overhead doesn’t keep the water out as well as it should.

“It’s part of the curse,” Pidge explains once she’s sitting cross-legged on her bedroll.

Lance examines the canvas, searching for tears in the fabric. “At least it’s not as cold and wet.” He eyes his cloak, discarded in a pile beside his own bedroll.

“Just as long as my documents don’t get wet.” Pidge reaches into her bag and pulls out a folio full of papers.

Lance squats on his bedroll and gapes at her incredulously. “I thought we were here to  _rest_.”

“And I will,” Pidge promises without looking at him. She uncaps a bottle of ink with one hand, a stack of papers strapped to a writing board balanced against her knee. “I just need to—”

Lance interrupts her, snatching the documents away and stuffing them back into the folio and that into her bag. He ignores her indignant gasp in favor of hiding the bag at the bottom of his bedroll and climbing in after it.

“ _Lance_ ,” Pidge hisses, already reaching for it.

He grins at her, but it falters when he struggles to get comfortable; her bag is much  _bigger_  than he expected.

“You’re uncomfortable with it there, aren’t you?” Pidge wonders, a smirk stretching across her face.

“I’m very cozy actually,” he lies. Somehow he suppresses a wince when a quill pokes him in the ankle.

Pidge rests her knees on her legs and props her face in her hands, leaning towards him with that same smug smile. “I’ll trade bedrolls with you.”

“You just want to work,” Lance accuses her.

“Better than wasting time—”

“Resting isn’t a waste of time!”

Pidge rubs her eyes, a yawn splitting her face a beat later, but before Lance can feel too triumphant about being proved right, she says, “If you return my bag, I will use my position in court to get you knighted by the king.”

Lance’s tired eyes shoot open while his heart skips a beat. “You—but you—” He sits up and gapes at her. “That requires you to tell him I was never knighted in the first place!”

“He’d forgive you,” Pidge says, waving a dismissive hand. “You’ve served him well, right? So he won’t mind righting a wrong.” She tilts her head to the side, an expression on her face that he can only describe as  _flirtatious_.

His cheeks warm, but he keeps his composure when he says, “How do you know?”

“I guess I don’t,” Pidge admits, shrugging, “but I can bring it up to him when we reach the encampment.”

Lance’s heart pounds while he dares to hope. “You really think that can work?”

“I do.” Pidge smiles without a hint of teasing. “And if it doesn’t, we can always ask Shiro.”

Lance laughs, and his enthusiasm for their journey returns. “If I didn’t think we needed rest I’d say we keep going now.”

“But what if we  _don_ _’t_ —”

“Not a chance, Pidge.”

Pidge sighs and grumbles, “You really are an ass sometimes.”

“Just because I don’t want you to keel over from exhaustion?” Lance quirks an eyebrow at her. “I’m sorry you need rest like a normal human being.”

Pidge bites her lip, then says, “Fine. I will sleep for a few hours, but we can’t linger long.”

“The king won’t have moved since he summoned you, Pidge.” Lance rests a hand on her shoulder. “I know you’re worried about the war - quiznak, I’m worried too - but that doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not…” Pidge trails off, her eyes narrowed and considering, then she says, “Give me my bag.”

“But we just—”

“Lance,” she says without any bite, “I only want to show you something, so it won’t take long.”

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes and reaching into his bedroll.

When he tugs her bag out, she snatches it away without hesitation, fumbling inside for her documents before pulling out…a scroll tied with a ribbon and a cracked blue seal.

The symbol on which is that of the Altean royal family.

Pidge unties the ribbon and passes the scroll to Lance.

He takes it, raising a confused eyebrow at her, but unrolls the scroll to scan its contents.

When he finishes, he picks his jaw up off the floor and stares at Pidge, who sits close enough to him that their knees touch while she fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Wait, does the king know about you—about your…being a girl?”

“He knows…most things,” Pidge confesses with a wry grin. “He hired me as a scribe partly to give me a reason to be at court; my other…identity was mostly to protect myself and my mission from everyone else.”

“What about stealing royal documents?” Lance says, trying for a stern expression but failing.

“That was…without his permission.” Pidge flushes and rubs the back of her neck.

“So you’re in a hurry because your brother was recovered on the front lines?” Lance rereads the letter and releases a low whistle. “I’m…happy for you, Pidge.”

But his heart plummets, belying his words, and he can’t help but wonder, “Does this mean you’ll leave court?”

“I haven’t found my father yet,” Pidge says.

“What about after that?”

She narrows her eyes at him, as if searching for some hidden meaning in his words, and replies, “I don’t know, Lance. I’m not planning that far ahead.”

“Well, you should always plan for the future, right?” he says, tapping her nose with a fingertip and trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Right now my future consists of me finding my brother and father. After that…” Pidge rubs her face and mutters, “Maybe I’ll still leave time for you.”

“Thank you so much, Pidge,” he says ironically, his chest clenching. He rolls the letter back into a scroll and returns it to her bag. “I’m happy to be an afterthought to you.”

“An after—” Pidge looks up and stares at him in shock. “You’re not an afterthought to me, Lance.”

“No?” Her words don’t quite assuage his concern, but they help, especially when she rests her small hand on his knee. “Then…what am I? We didn’t exactly start with our best feet forward.”

“Blackmail never makes a good first impression, does it?” Pidge smiles, and there’s something a little shy in it this time, something that makes his heart beat just a bit faster. “But now you’re my friend; what else?”

They sit much closer than they had mere moments ago, breathing the same air, sharing heat and space.

Lightning flashes beyond the canvas of the tent, faintly illuminating even the closed off world they occupy. Tension crackles inside, filling his blood and more electrifying than the lightning.

Pidge draws Lance in without trying, her warmth and humor something he needs with a desperation that surprises him, which is why he leans forward when her smile falters.

He’ll do anything to get it back.

“Lance—”

Pidge’s breath escapes her in a shallow gasp when he kisses her.

She doesn’t hesitate to kiss him back, stealing his own breath away as she rests her clenched fists against the back of his neck.

(The day began with a poor decision that led into an argument, and now this?)

With his chest full of warmth, Lance pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against hers and confess, “I didn’t mean what I said before. I actually really like looking at your face.”

“I…thanks.” Pidge’s cheeks turn pink. “But what’re you talking about?”

“Our fight earlier, remember?” Lance cups her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “I said…well, I didn’t mean what I said, Pidge.”

She runs her fingers through his hair and closes the gap between them again, her lips brushing his. “I know,” she says, “and I’m sorry for what I said too. I-I actually wouldn’t mind if you were the first thing I saw in the morning.”

Lance laughs, much too happy for someone stranded in an endless storm. “Lucky for you, I just might be.”

This time when he kisses her, Pidge smiles against his mouth and murmurs, “Maybe a few mornings after that too, as long as you’re sincere.” She withdraws and narrows her eyes at him. “I’m not stupid; I know you have a reputation—”

Lance rolls his eyes, but his heart drops and he quickly reassures her, “It’s not  _nearly_  as bad as you think, Pidge. It’s really”—he smiles sheepishly, hesitating to search for the right word—” _exaggerated_.”

Pidge smirks, to his relief. She leans a little closer, her nose brushing his, and says in a low voice, “Then I’m glad I’m the only one you’re keeping warm.”

A thrill runs through him at her words, his face heating even more while he tightens his hold on her. “Then should I take it that you’re not still mad at me for stranding us in the Thundering Glade?” Lance mutters.

Pidge snorts. “You’re  _very_  lucky it had this outcome,” she says, but the enthusiasm with which she kisses him leaves no room for doubt.

Beyond their insulated world, it doesn’t stop storming, but not a drop of rain hits them again.


	74. Trekking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a prompt about the Paladins living out of their Lions post-season six
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff and a little bit of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175165664298/hello-reem-3-could-you-maybe-write-a-small-bit)

It’s during one of their first stops without the Castle that the topic crops up, after they’ve already traveled light-years away from their last sight of Lotor, and are still many millions away from Earth:

“So…what’s your wolf’s name?” Lance asks Keith.

Pidge pauses with her hand inside one of her bags. She’s searching for her hairbrush  _again_  because she can’t believe that she forgot it aboard the Castle that they blew to smithereens to save  _multiple_  realities from unraveling. Her hair is already a matted and smelly mess from wearing her helmet for vargas on end, and borrowing a brush from Allura won’t cut it for long.

“I don’t know,” Keith replies. “It hasn’t told me yet.”

“It hasn’t—” Lance cuts himself off with a strangled laugh. “It hasn’t  _told_  you?”

Pidge spins around, just as curious, to see Keith standing with his arms crossed, the beast that Coran called a “cosmic wolf” at his side. “So it…talks?” she says.

“Not…exactly,” Keith says, shrugging. “It…look, it’s really hard to explain, and I  _tried_  to name it when I realized it wasn’t going to ditch me.” He smiled and scratched behind the wolf’s ear. “It just didn’t like any of the ones I offered. 

“So why are you still calling it an  _it_?” Lance demands, staring between him and the wolf leaning its head towards Keith. “Isn’t  _it_  offended?” 

The wolf stands on its hind legs, and Pidge unwittingly takes a step back, caught off-guard. But then it balances its front paws on Keith’s chest and swipes a long tongue over his face.

Pidge wrinkles her nose in disgust. She had - or has? - a dog back on Earth, but she never liked it when he  _licked_  her…

But Keith laughs and rubs the wolf’s furry sides, apparently unbothered by its affection. “Does that answer your question, Lance?”

Lance rolls his eyes at Pidge. “I guess it does.” He then stares at some point past her, and when she turns she spots Allura and Romelle deep in conversation as they emerge from the Black Lion.

“I’m gonna check and see if Hunk wants help with dinner,” Lance mumbles. “Maybe he needs someone to fend off Coran…” He wanders away, shoulders slumped.

Pidge stares after him, something twisting in her stomach. Maybe she and Hunk shouldn’t have been so harsh on him about his… _thing_  for Allura, not when he hasn’t once spoken a pickup line to the only other  _reasonably_  young and pretty woman traveling with them despite several quintants of opportunity.

(Well, not that he’s ever used a pickup line on  _Pidge_  either.)

But she bites her lip and approaches Keith and the cosmic wolf, a smile already stretching across her face before her fingers sink into silky fur.

* * *

 

Bathing in a river is about as pleasant as Pidge expected it to be, which is to say it’s  _very cold_  and  _very uncomfortable._  

Vegetation surrounds the river, spindly trees with arching roots rising over the riverbanks and shading the water, but Pidge still feels exposed.

Except for the minute she loses herself in the feeling of washing the grime and sweat from her skin and hair, which is now long enough to tickle her back when wet and sit on her shoulders when dry.

She can even tie it up, if only she has a hair tie.

Pidge dries and dresses in her cozier civvies quickly, eager to get back to give the others a turn to wash and shave and whatever it is they need to do. She knows, from his copious whining about a scratchy beard, that Lance in particular is dying for a shave.

(She doesn’t think it  _looks_  so bad, not like he seems to; actually he doesn’t look bad at all with a little scruff on his face…not that she’ll ever tell him that.)

She treks back to the clearing where the Lions touched down, in time to see Shiro, of all people, helping Hunk with the cooking.

She grins at the sight, unfamiliar even before his disappearance from the Black Lion’s cockpit, while Hunk explains a step to him.

Shiro’s white beard is even thicker than Lance’s and Hunk’s by now, though Pidge isn’t sure if that’s due to his age or biology. And he’s more resistant to shaving it; quintants ago she overheard him insisting to Keith that he’d do it himself.

(Pidge wishes she could forget that conversation.)

Lance sprints out of the Red Lion before she can get much closer, a bundle of clothes with a few bottles poking out in his arms. “Oh, great, Pidge is back!” he exclaims, glancing up and smirking. “This means it’s our turn—”

“Not so fast, Lance,” Shiro says. “Taste this first.” He offers a wooden spoon to Lance.

A bottle tumbles to the ground while Lance takes it wordlessly, his brow furrowed in confusion. He glances at Hunk, whose eyes widen but otherwise doesn’t signal that anything is wrong with Shiro’s cuisine.

Lance sticks the spoon in his mouth, an eyebrow raised before his face pales. He coughs and mutters around the spoon, “This is, uh, this is…interesting.” He glares his Hunk as if to demand  _why didn_ _’t he warn him_. “What is it?”

Shiro sags and says, “I knew you wouldn’t like it.”

“What’s  _it_?” Pidge wonders, curious despite her better judgment.

“It’s our attempt at…curry,” Hunk admits with a shrug. “But Kaltenecker hasn’t been giving as much milk lately—”

“Because we’re not feeding her enough!” Lance interjects.

“—and we don’t have real spices  _or_  a meat base.” He sighs and stares into the simmering pot. “Also I let Shiro touch it.”

“Hey!” Shiro says, narrowing his eyes at him. “I may not be the best cook—”

“He’s almost as bad as Coran,” Keith, who Pidge hadn’t noticed approaching, muttered to her, making her jump.

“—but I  _do_  know how to make a quiznaking fine curry!”

“Out of alien ingredients?” Hunk says, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

Shiro sighs and confesses, “No.”

“Yeah, and I’d say that without rice or some other kind of grain, this curry’s a dud.” Hunk pats a disconsolate Shiro on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I’m sure it would’ve been great on Earth.”

While Shiro’s attention is on Hunk, Keith violently shakes his head. Lance snickers, but when Shiro turns to him curiously, he covers his mouth with a hand.

“Uh…my beard itches,” he complains, scratching at his chin and smiling sheepishly.

Pidge smiles, amused despite everything.

“Ah, well, while this cooks, let’s go clean up,” Hunk says. He grabs Lance’s arm and tugs him to the other end of the clearing. “Pidge, by the way, your hair looks nice like that!”

“Oh, thanks!” Pidge, her eyes widening at the compliment, runs her fingers through her damp hair. “It used to be longer so…I think I might grow it out now that I don’t have the chance to cut it.”

“Whatever you do, I’m sure it’ll look great,” Hunk says cheerfully. “Right, Lance?” He pokes Lance in the cheek.

Lance, his wide, stunned eyes fixed on Pidge like  _she_ _’s_  the alien, jumps, swatting his hand away. “Right,” he says. He shakes his head and smiles at her. “It looks…pretty! Uh, not that it didn’t before!” He holds up his hands defensively, his bundle falling to the ground. “Aw, quiznak,” he grumbles, staring down at his dropped clothes and bottles.

Pidge laughs and bends down to help him collect them. “That’s such a relief to hear from you, Lance,” she teases.

The air seems warmer then, and heat travels up her arm when her hand brushes Lance’s.

(Of all the moments that can seem like something out of a young adult novel…)

Lance and Hunk slip out of the clearing and head towards the river, Hunk’s booming laughter reaching her ears from there. And Pidge stares after them - after Lance’s retreating back - and wonders why only Lance’s compliment stirs something in her chest.


	75. Calm in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted: bed-sharing, basically
> 
> Canon-verse (ish), angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175670461488/clue-pidge-and-lance-are-helping-a-coalition-city)

Pidge refused to look at Lance as their host led them into the cellar. Though ever burst of thunder or flash of lightning made her flinch, she kept her back straight and her eyes down, her mouth twisted into a scowl.

“The two of you can use this room,” said their host, his antennae drooping. “We owe much to you Paladins, but we’re not wealthy in accommodation and—”

“This is perfect!” Lance interrupted with a smile, his hands on his hips as he inspected the dark and tiny room. “It’s very…cozy.”

Pidge’s breath misted before her face, but though she shivered she knew not to comment on the chill to their host.

The Scarab clapped his upper hands together. “Oh, good! If you need anything else please don’t hesitate to disturb me in the next room. I fear we may be holed in the cellar for over a day.”

Pidge’s eyes widened, and she darted a look at Lance. If she had to spend over a day -  _including_  a night - confined to the same small space as Lance…

Their host retreated out the door, promising to bring them food in the morning, and left them alone in a dark room.

Pidge crossed her arms and sat at the foot of the bed, biting her lip.

“You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Lance asked, his feet entering her field of view.

“No,” Pidge said.

“Is it because we can’t continue our mission in this storm?” Lance wondered.

Pidge scowled. “Well, the sooner we finish, the sooner we can leave and I can…”

“Can what, Pidge?” The bed dipped when he perched beside her, his armored arm brushing hers. “What’s wrong?”

Pidge pulled away when he reached for her hand but regretted it when hurt crossed his face. But she lied, “I’m just tired.”

“Then if you’re tired let’s go to sleep.” Lance tugged off his helmet, leaving his hair mussed. Then, heedless of his company, he started prying off every other piece of his armor.

Pidge’s cheeks warmed as she averted her eyes and cleared her throat. “Do you  _have_  to do that in front of me?”

“What?” Lance said,  _flexing_  his arm and showing off his admittedly shapely bicep. “Is my physique so impressive to you?”

Pidge shot him an unimpressed look and grumbled, “Are you saying you want me to undress in front of you?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, his own face coloring to her perverse satisfaction. “N-no! I’m leaving!” He stood and opened a closet door. “You’re lucky I’m not afraid of the dark, Pidge!” he shouted once he was inside.

Pidge snorted, an unwitting smile crossing her face, and finally loosened enough to remove her own armor.

Once she’d stripped down to the black undersuit, she realized how utterly  _pointless_  that whole exercise in avoidance was when neither of them brought a change in clothes and both of them would likely sleep in the black suit.

She’d just made a fool of herself for no reason.

“Y-you can come back now,” she said, desperately hoping he wouldn’t point out the flaw in her logic.

(Quiznak, how  _embarrassing_.)

Lance emerged, the creaking of hinges alerting her to his presence right before he said, “So do you want me to sleep on the floor since there’s only one bed?”

Pidge spun around to stare at him uncomprehendingly - the formfitting black suit forgotten - until her gaze slipped past him. “N-no, we can share. It’s too cold to sleep on the floor.” She shivered as the words left her mouth and clutched herself.

“All right, well, bed time!” Lance slipped under the covers and lay down. “Wait, unless you prefer this side?” He sat back up, an eyebrow raised.

“No, I’ll take the other,” Pidge said, forcing her feet to move and slide in beside him.

She kept her distance, her back turned to him…though he emanated a welcome warmth, one that her own body wrapped in the shared quilt couldn’t replicate. But she pinched her eyes shut and tried to block out the sound of the storm raging over their heads - and tried to ignore the pounding of her heart.

Pidge couldn’t sleep.

Not even counting in binary or reciting the digits of pi or listing the chemical elements by order of atomic number helped.

Thunder rumbled too loud, shaking the house so much that dust rained from the ceiling. She couldn’t get warm no matter how tightly she curled up. And Lance…

Every time Pidge closed her eyes, Lance dove into a river swollen with rushing white water and debris.

Pidge shuddered at the memory, hating how helpless she’d felt - she’d never been a strong swimmer - and hating Lance for making her witness it, no matter how irrational. It felt like her heart stopped when he jumped in after the Scarab children, and because she couldn’t handle the strength of her relief when he emerged, unharmed but exhausted, she’d shut him out.

She should’ve held him instead.

Pidge wiped away the first unexpected tear, but the next flowed faster, like the rain outside, and she couldn’t keep up with them and the scratchiness of her throat.

Oh, if she fell sick on top of everything else, she’d be  _pissed_.

She bit back a sob when a warm presence appeared at her back.

“Please tell me what’s wrong, Pidge,” Lance muttered sleepily, his voice close to her ear.

Pidge shivered for an entirely different reason.

She turned around and wrapped her arms around Lance, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. “Can’t s-sleep,” she complained, her voice unsteady.

“Oh, that’s all?” Lance said, sounding skeptical. He returned her embrace, one hand moving up and down her back.

“Because you  _scared_  me, asshole,” she said, her hands finding purchase in his shoulders to hold him tighter.

“Oh.” His hand froze against her back, but he shifted, his nose brushing her temple. “I…when I jumped into the river? Is that why you froze me out?”

Pidge bit her lip, hesitating, then nodded.

“But…we do stuff like that all the time. Why was it so different this time?”

“I don’t know,” Pidge lied.

_Because it_ _’s different when I have to see it. Because you’re as much my family as my father and Matt. Because I’d never forgive myself if you died in front of me and I could’ve prevented it._

_Because I love you._

But she said none of that. Instead she clutched him as close as she dared and let him whisper reassurances into her ear before the sound of his breathing and the warmth of his body finally lulled her to sleep.


	76. Cave In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt calling upon "The Cave of Two Lovers" episode from Avatar: The Last Airbender
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/176049473383/hello-if-you-take-requests-for-fanfics-i-have-an)
> 
> No knowledge of that episode of ATLA (or ATLA in general) necessary

"We’ve been through this tunnel already,” Lance said, peeking over Pidge’s shoulder and at the projection from her cuff.

She glanced up at him, a slight frown on her  _very_  close face, and said, “Not according to my map.”

Lance scanned their surroundings - a narrow tunnel deep under the surface of a dying Balmera, the walls where the light from their armor fell glittering with tiny blue-white crystals. But tremors shook the walls, dust raining down on them from the low ceiling, and every few ticks a the ground rumbled as if from thunder from a powerful storm.

“Well,” Lance said, carefully because he knew how testy Pidge could get about being corrected, “the Balmera’s alive, right?”

“Right…” Pidge agreed.

“So who’s to say the tunnels don’t change sometimes?”

Pidge turned to face him with her arms crossed. “Okay, first of all, the Balmera may be alive, but it’s also  _dying_. Second of all, it’s also  _huge_ , so if the tunnels  _are_  changing, then it would probably be  _very_  slowly.” She nodded, apparently satisfied with her explanation, and added, “Sure, it probably changes more rapidly than the surface of a nonliving planet only subjected to its own erosion, but—” She gasped, her eyes catching on something overhead, and blurted, “Lance, watch out!”

“Wha—”

Pidge shoved him, hard, her hands planted against his chest. He stumbled backwards, heart in his throat and flailing his arms as his visor snapped shut. Dust filled the tunnel and his vision, and when the particles settled a giant shard lay where he’d just stood, silhouetted in the gloom.

But he couldn’t see Pidge.

“Pidge!” Lance said, his voice echoing eerily around the tunnel. “Are you—”

“I’m fine.” Pidge emerged from behind the fallen boulder, her steps rapid as she approached him. “What about you?” She grabbed his arms, staring wide-eyed at him and looking more frightened than he’d seen her.

Lance laughed, her concern cheering him almost as much as seeing her upright and uncrushed, and gestured at himself. “I’m great, thanks to you.”

Pidge smiled, and when she didn’t let go, he prompted, “Uh, Pidge? You know we’re not down here to sightsee, right?”

Pidge let go of him and cleared her throat. She raised her wrist, their makeshift map projected, and muttered, “If I wanted to see you I wouldn’t have to go underground.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed, unsure what she meant by the statement - only that he  _just_  caught a hint of red in her cheeks, even in the dim glow of the projected map.

With so little light, their shadows stretched long, walking alongside them as they traveled deeper underground. The air grew stale, but not so unclean they had to rely on the life support in their armor.

But the ground still shook, each tremor more powerful than the last, and Lance stuck as close to Pidge as he could - close enough that his heart skipped a beat every time her arm brushed against his.

(That had been happening more and more around her lately…)

“If you were a small child whose planet was literally crumbling around you, where would  _you_  hide?” Lance posed, tapping his chin.

“Not underground,” Pidge said. “You’re supposed to hide under something sturdy when there’s an earthquake.”

“This is like a doomsday quake, Pidge,” Lance pointed out, craning his neck to peer into a shadowed crevice. “I don’t think a desk would help.”

Pidge admitted, “I guess not…”

“Plus…well, underground is all these Balmerans really know. The sky’s got to be kind of scary to them if the Galra have been keeping them underground.”

Pidge snorted and observed, “That sounds verbatim like something Hunk said.”

“Ver-bait-what?” Lance rubbed the back of his neck and frowned, confused.

Pidge sighed. “It means word-for-word.” She grabbed his wrist - in time for Lance to realize he walked a step behind her - and said, “Keep up, Lance.”

“With your pace or with your  _big words_?” he retorted, though he sped up so he could trek beside her again.

But not before she halted at a fork in the tunnel, so suddenly he bumped into her, holding onto her shoulders so she wouldn’t pitch forward.

Pidge shrugged his hands off - for some reason disappointment filled him at how quickly she pushed him away - and consulted her map. “Which way do you think?”

Lance glanced down the tunnel to his right, holding his breath. This far underground, in this deep dark, his sight was all but useless. But if he could  _hear_  something—

A rumble filled the tunnel, and Lance stepped closer to Pidge on reflex. Rocks fell from the ceiling, and Lance wrapped an arm around Pidge, tucking her into his side, and put up his shield and his head down.

Pebbles ricocheted off the energy shield, rattling to the ground. Bigger stones dropped around them, and Pidge pressed closer.

Dust tickled his nose, making him sneeze, but when the latest collapse stilled - when the dust cleared - he stayed frozen.

Lance looked down.

Pidge’s eyes were pinched shut, long lashes casting shadows across her cheeks. But they fluttered as she opened her eyes and met his. “Th-that was—”

“Yeah,” Lance agreed, his heart hammering out of fear or…something else.

His breath caught in his throat when Pidge brushed her gloved thumb under his eye. “You got a little…dirt there,” she muttered.

“Thanks,” he said.

“I-I think that collapse made our decision for us,” Pidge said without removing her hand.

Lance’s sluggish mind couldn’t comprehend what she meant. “Decision?”

“One of the forks is blocked.”

“O-oh,” Lance said, chuckling sheepishly as he remembered. He disengaged his shield and stood, offering Pidge a hand once he was on his feet again.

She took it, letting him pull her upright, only for her to immediately get back to business, directing them down the tunnel entrance not blockaded by boulders glittering with minerals.

They’d barely traveled down it when the sound of their footsteps changed, echoing slightly as if the tunnel widened ahead of them. Lance’s foot splashed, and when he glanced down, a puddle of water reflected the glow from his helmet.

“Is there an underground river here?” he wondered, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

But his pulse rushed in excitement; the idea of an underground river reminded him of discovering the Blue Lion on Earth!

Lance took Pidge’s hand and tugged her along. But she didn’t protest, instead following almost eagerly.

This time she didn’t pull away, not even when they emerged into a cavern so wide its outer dimensions disappeared into shadow.

A lake filled the cavern, its surface glowing softly and its banks gently lapping at their feet.

Lance’s jaw dropped, awe overcoming him, and a gasp even escaped Pidge.

“Holy crow,” he breathed, taking in the gleaming lake.

“Yeah,” Pidge said, her fingers tightening around his.

But the wonder proved short-lived.

Distant splashes echoed throughout the cavern as the ceiling crumbled, water from a nearby collision soaking into the ground at his feet. And the longer they stood there, the more the lake’s surface rippled, both with ground tremors and with boulders falling through it.

Its glow faded until all Lance could make out was the nearest bank, faintly illuminated by his armor’s light.

“Lance, we need to move,” Pidge reminded him with a nudge. “We—this might be a dead end. We’ll have to head back.”

“Why can’t we go around the lake?” he asked, nodding towards the unseen shore. “Or maybe it’s shallow and we can wade across?”

“We don’t know how big it is,” Pidge pointed out tersely, “and the longer we stay here arguing about it, the more—”

The loudest and  _nearest_  splash yet cut her off, a spurt of water shooting at them and across their visors. Lance wiped the drops away with his glove and reluctantly admitted, “Point taken.”

But the lake wasn’t their greatest obstacle.

Rubble blocked the tunnel that led into the cavern, and even as Lance, with a growing and breathless desperation, crouched to dig through the debris, he knew they were running out of time.

Quakes hit more often, the biggest tremors ticks rather than doboshes apart, and larger and larger boulders plummeted from above, striking the ground with a small rumble of their own. And despite Pidge kneeling beside him and helping push rocks aside, it was useless.

This would take too long.

“Quiznak,” he hissed, standing and resting his hands on his hips. “This is useless, Pidge.”

“What else do you suggest we do?” she demanded, eyes flashing. “Our only way out is—”

“Around the lake!” Lance cut her off, gesturing at the disappearing path behind her. “Or better yet,  _through_  the lake.”

“We don’t know where  _either_  of those places lead!” Pidge protested. “And going around the lake? Can’t you see the path slopes  _down_?”

Lance peeked over her, scarcely interested in that excuse even when he saw that she was right. But his heart pounded painfully loudly in his ears, drowning out all reason - nothing but the need to see both of them survive existed.

“Pidge, we have to try  _something_!”

“I-I know,” she said, sighing, “but…”

A deafening crack erupted from overhead, drowning out the rest of Pidge’s argument. And Lance acted without thinking.

He darted at Pidge, pressing her against a wall and shielding her with his body as more dirt and dust showered them. He pinched his eyes closed, waiting until the latest tremor faded before opening them again.

To be met with Pidge’s, with her brow furrowed and her hands resting on his chest.

Lance then recognized the compromising position, that she was yet again flush against him, only this time he’d…pinned her to a wall.

His cheeks filling with heat, he said, “Are you o—”

She kissed him.

His eyes shot open, heart skipping at the press of her lips. Pidge kissed clumsily but with enthusiasm, their noses bumping until Lance tilted his head and returned the pressure.

One of her arm’s wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, and Lance grasped her hand, pressing it to the wall while an almost delirious happiness filled him.

Warmth spread through his chest and body and seemed to concentrate in the hand that held Pidge’s, but when they parted to catch their breath, he remembered where they were.

Lance’s automatic smile faltered, his heart sinking where ticks ago it floated.

Pidge wore a frown that matched his, despite the pink in her cheeks, and said, “Lance, I’m—” She cut herself off, shaking her head and sighing. “We’re still quiznak knows how deep underground.”

“Y-yeah,” Lance said, but before he could step away from Pidge, something caught his attention.

Where their linked hands touched the wall, it emitted a soft teal glow - and a trail of ignited crystals led from that point along the rock, pushing away the shadows.

“Pidge,” Lance breathed, half-worried his voice would diminish the light, “do you see that too?”

“See what?” she asked, but her eyes widened when she followed his gaze to their joined hands. “What the quiznak?”

“Should we follow where it goes?” he suggested, raising an eyebrow. When Pidge hesitated, he added, “We have nothing else to lose, Pidge.”

“Nothing but our lives,” she said, then shrugged. “Let’s go.”

They followed their trail of glowing breadcrumbs, and this time Pidge didn’t complain about the ground sloping steadily down. But she lingered close to Lance, still holding tight to his hand, both of theirs pressed to the wall as the crystals behind them faded back into darkness.

They hiked in silence, not even mentioning the kiss, but when their breath grew short from the ground rising in elevation, Pidge said, “Thank  _quiznak_.”

“We’ll be back on the Balmera’s surface before you know it,” Lance reassured her, squeezing her hand and glancing over his shoulder at her. “Allura will wrap up that rejuvenation ceremony, and we can be on our merry—”

“We haven’t found the kid yet, Lance.”

His heart dropped into his stomach, and he said, “Oh, quiznak.”

A shadow danced across their path, catching his eye and making him stop, about to reach for his bayard. But when a small figure stepped into view, he sagged and told Pidge, “That was…easier than I thought it would be.”

“Lance, we’ve almost been crushed three times!”

“Yeah, well…” Lance inhaled and cautiously withdrew his hand from Pidge’s - relaxing slightly when the crystals still lit the path ahead - to approach the Balmeran child. “Hey,” he said, extending an arm towards them. “Your parents sent us to get you; they’re very worried about you.”

The child stared at his offered hand with gleaming eyes. Lance resisted the urge to grab them and go, declaring their mission accomplished. Stopping renewed his sense of urgency, made his feet itch to be on the move lest the whole tunnel collapse on them.

The child took his hand.

The sound of Pidge’s relieved laughter filled his ears, but with the child occupying him, he couldn’t hold her hand the whole hike up.

* * *

A new tension sat in the air, heavy over Lance’s and Pidge’s heads, in the wake of the rescue.

In the wake of the kiss.

Lance didn’t understand why Pidge avoided him afterward, once they were safe on Earth again, but his mind supplied him with one conclusion:

Pidge kissed him out of desperation, because she thought they wouldn’t escape the Balmera’s tunnels alive.

Not because she felt something for him.

But he still cornered her after a meeting at the Garrison one evening, finding her in the hallway outside the conference room.

Lance cleared his throat, seeking composure despite the pounding of his heart, and asked, “Pidge, can we talk?”

Pidge froze, her posture stiff, and turned to face him. “We were talking earlier,” she said, crossing her arms and meeting his eyes in challenge.

“We were in a meeting and around other people,” Lance said, waving a dismissive hand. “That doesn’t count.”

“Okay, fine.” Pidge frowned. “What do you want?”

Lance ran his fingers through his hair - pressing his lips together to keep from smirking when he spotted Pidge tracking the motion with her eyes - and decided to skip to the point:

“Why did you kiss me?”

Pidge tore her gaze away from him, biting her lip, and admitted, “I thought we were going to die down there.”

“O-oh,” Lance said, disappointment sitting heavily in his stomach at having his suspicion confirmed. “But would you…do it again?”

“I—” Her eyes lifted, and she muttered, “If you wanted me to.”

His breath caught, hope reigniting within him, and he said, “I do. Want you to, I mean.” He smiled and rubbed the back of his neck.

“Why?”

Lance blinked, surprised by her question. “What do you mean  _why_?”

“Why do you want  _me_  to kiss you?” Pidge squinted at him, as if he was something she didn’t understand.

The look made his skin crawl, but he pushed that discomfort aside - if he couldn’t find the courage to speak frankly to the girl of his dreams then why bother standing before her at all? - and said, “Because I love you.”

Pidge’s face turned red, her eyes widening behind her glasses, and she exclaimed, “ _Since when_?”

Lance tried to shove aside his own embarrassment with a shrug. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but for a while now.” He smiled, taking her small hands in his, and when she didn’t pull away, it emboldened him to step towards her, close enough that her warm breath caressed his face. “So…I really  _do_  want you to kiss me again.”

A wild grin finally overtook Pidge’s face. She tilted her head back, leaning slightly into him as she stood on her toes so that their noses brushed.

She stepped back, and when Lance’s face fell, she laughed and promised, “Later. I think this time I want to do it somewhere nothing like a cave-in or nosy friend can interrupt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~is it just me or is my writing getting worse~~


	77. build a house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 'Clue': plance, Buena Vista Social Club, Varadero
> 
> Post-canon (vaguely), fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175841616153/plance-buena-vista-social-club-its-a-cuban-band)
> 
> Referenced song is ["Chan Chan"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KODWcrncnUU), and I referred to [this translation](https://lyricstranslate.com/en/chan-chan-chan-chan.html-1#songtranslation) of the lyrics for inspiration

Sand clings to the soles of Pidge’s feet, trapped between her toes and trailing up her legs. Every step stirs up even more sand, so white it reflects the light of a full moon.

They’re late leaving the beach since they lost track of time, fighting their way back to shore just before sunset. But when it’s this quiet and calm after the daily crowd of tourists, Pidge doesn’t mind.

Until a growl from her stomach disrupts the silence.

Lance laughs and nudges her in the side. “ _Someone_ _’s_  hungry,” he observes.

Pidge scowls. “And who’s fault is that? You  _exhausted_ me today.”

“Just from snorkeling?”

“ _Yes_!” Pidge swings the flippers dangling from her hand and taps Lance’s shoulder with the snorkel. “Fighting the water is  _hard_.”

Lance snickers, undeterred by her scowl, and says, “If you can make it off the beach, I’ll carry you home.”

Her eyes narrow, instantly suspicious. “What’s in it for you?”

“Well…” Lance rubs the back of his neck and admits, “You’ve done everything  _I_  wanted to do today, so it’s only fair if I do something for you now.” Then he smirks - and despite the way her heart picks up she does  _not_  trust it one bit. “And I’ll even throw in some of those fried plantains you said you didn’t like.”

Pidge blushes, and she clears her throat and says, “I didn’t like the way they stuck to my teeth.”

“Let’s  _not_  lie to each other.”

“… _fine_.” Pidge crosses her arms and grumbles, “Happy? Will you carry me now?”

“Not so fast.” Lance taps his chin, looking thoughtful, and adds, “Admit you had fun snorkeling.”

“I already  _told_  you I had fun, didn’t I?”

“You admit it to my family…and to yours.”

Pidge meets his eyes, his brow raised, and because she knows he won’t expect her to concede so easily, she says, “Okay.”

And then she keeps walking, kicking up sand and admiring the moon dancing with the waves, the faint scent of salt, and—

“ _Okay_?” Lance gapes as he catches up to her.

“What? You don’t have to be so surprised by this, Lance. I saw a  _sea turtle_!” She grins, remembering how the wonder itself kept her buoyant, and hugs his arm. “Matt’s going to be  _so_  jealous.”

Lance snorts and reaches up to ruffle her mussed hair. “Everything we saw in space, and it’s a sea turtle that makes you squeal like a little girl?”

Pidge giggles and says, “I like animals, okay?”

“Even if it means  _outdoor activity_?” Lance stares down at her, incredulous.

“Yeah, I guess so. I mean…I have sand stuck to me  _everywhere_ ”—she very unsubtly picks a wedgie her bathing suit inflicted on her—”and my hair is a matted mess and I’m sure I have sunburn somewhere. But it was worth it.”

“Did I have anything to do with it?” Lance asks with a hopeful smile.

“It was all the sea turtle,” Pidge teases, poking him in the side. When Lance - predictably - pouts, she laughs and buries a hand in his hair to pull him down.

Pidge drops her snorkeling gear in favor of wrapping her arms around Lance’s neck, his falling to the sand with a soft  _plop_  a beat later as his hands find a place at her waist. His lips taste like salt, and his skin is sticky where it presses against hers.

Standing in this ocean paradise and kissing Lance until they’re both breathless is enough to make Pidge forget the pain they suffered to defend this - at least for the moment.

Her heart pounds for a different and more welcome reason, and when they part to breathe she murmurs, “You can even carry me straight to bed.”

Lance makes an odd choking sound - despite the heat on her face, she enjoys having this effect on him - but says, “Can I run?”

She smirks, but before she can retort, music drifts along the beach from one of the resorts bordering it, barely audible over the crashing of the waves. And Lance, distracted, tilts his head to the side, listening.

“You know the song?” she wonders, voice low.

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “It’s an old one too.”

Pidge holds her breath, straining to listen. The tune is bright but not fast, and somehow  _bounces_ , the rhythm not something she’s used to. But then Lance’s hold on her tightens, his forehead resting against hers, and he sings softly in Spanish:

 _“El cari_ _ñ_ _o que te tengo,_  
Yo no lo puedo negar,  
Se me sale la babita,  
Yo no lo puedo evitar. 

_Cuando Juanica y Chan Chan,_  
_En el mar cernian arena,_  
_Como sacudia el ‘jibe’,  
_ _A Chan Chan le daba pena._ _”_

“Translate?” Pidge requests, smiling, as her Spanish still leaves something to be desired. But from the softness in Lance’s gaze…

He laughs and says, “It’s not  _exactly_  a love song, Pidge.”

“I…didn’t think it was,” Pidge lies, rolling her eyes. “Then…?”

“Well, it’s about this couple - Juanica and Chan Chan - that are building a house and come down to the beach looking for building stuff.”

Pidge, rather underwhelmed by his explanation, raises an eyebrow. “Oh, from the way you’re looking at me, you almost had me fooled.”

Lance snorts but kisses her forehead, his lips lingering, and says, “I don’t know, Pidge. Building a house with someone sounds pretty romantic to me.”

Her heart skips a beat, but she quips, “Not your usual brand of romance though.”

“But for a future…” Lance smiles. “You’re not my  _usual brand_ of girl either.”

Pidge scowls, annoyed at the reminder - at her own long ago skepticism that  _he_  could ever feel something for  _her_  - and retorts, “Don’t ruin this, Lance.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he reassures her. “Let me prove it to you.” And before she can demand how he plans on doing so, he steps away from her, bends down to collect their dropped snorkeling gear, and hands them to her. “Hold these.”

“What—”

One arm slips under her knees and another around her back, a startled squeal escaping Pidge as Lance scoops her up, sand flying in all directions. He settles her against his bare chest, and despite her unwitting delight at the situation, she protests, “Hey, at least warn me first!”

“Sorry,” Lance says, though his grin suggests he’s not sorry at all. “I just wouldn’t want my  _one true love_  to pass out exhausted before I had a chance to keep my promise.”

As he walks along the beach, Pidge slings an arm around his neck - her other arm keeping their gear from tumbling back to the ground - and jokes, “How gallant of you, Lance. It’s almost like you’re my knight in shining…swimming trunks.” She pats his cheek, and when he rolls his eyes she says, “You know I love you, right?”

Lance squeezes her and says, “Y el cariño que te tengo. Yo no lo puedo negar.”

“Quiznak, Lance, my Spanish isn’t good enough yet!”

He snickers, the flush in his cheeks obvious in the moonlight, and says, “You’re a genius, Pidge, so I know you can figure it out. But I’ll give you a hint.”

Pidge raises an expectant eyebrow. “Oh?”

“It’s a line from that song”—Lance winks at her—”mi  _cari_ _ñ_ _o_.”


	78. Sandwiched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt clue prompt: Pidge and Lance, Castle elevator, fried banana sandwich
> 
> Canon-verse (pre-season six), fluff and a touch of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/175772722408/for-clue-pidge-and-lance-the-castle-elevator)

Pidge doesn’t glance up from her data pad as she steps into the elevator, too busy combing through information collected by her Galra finder. She marks the points she wants to look at more closely - the ones to bring to Allura’s and Shiro’s attention - and deletes those superfluous that make her wonder if it’s time to upgrade the program.

The data pad slips from her fingers when she bumps into something  _solid_ and  _warm_. She gasps, trying to catch it, but another, larger hand grabs it before it can crash to the ground.

“Drop something?” Lance quips, smirking at her.

Pidge blinks at him, surprised - she hadn’t realized she shares the elevator with someone - and says, “Thanks.” She takes the data pad back when he offers it - though not without giving the screen a cursory glance - and settles into the elevator beside him.

And that’s when she notices he’s half-naked.

Pidge hates the flush that rises to her cheeks, and she forces herself to avert her gaze. Not that she’s never seen Lance half-naked before…but usually she had a little more warning than  _this_.

“Uh…where are you going?” she asks, glancing down long enough to note his blue swim trunks.

“The pool.” Lance tugs the white towel draped around his shoulders. “You want to come?”

“N-no—” Pidge clears her throat and manages to look him in the eye. “I thought it was upside down?”

“Oh, it is!” Lance says with a chuckle. “I just never got a chance to  _inspect_  the place last time, so I thought this time I’d figure out some way to get…up.”

Pidge raises a skeptical eyebrow at him, then her eyes narrow when she catches sight of the basket hanging from his hand. “You having a picnic there too?”

“Yeah, kind of.” Lance scratches his chin and gives her the basket. When Pidge opens it to peek inside, he says, “I always get hungry after I swim, and something about eating in the same place as I was swimming is…nice. Kind of reminds me of home.” He smiles wistfully, and something in Pidge’s chest tightens.

“I guess that makes sense,” Pidge says. She reaches into the basket and pulls out a foil-wrapped…sandwich. “What is it?”

“It’s a fried banana sandwich,” Lance tells her, grinning. “Or, well, the closest Hunk and I could get to one with non-Earth stuff.”

Pidge’s nose wrinkled involuntarily. “A…did I hear you right? Did you really say it’s a  _fried banana sandwich_?”

“It’s not  _really_  a fried banana sandwich.” Lance snatches the foil-wrapped sandwich away, and when Pidge hands him the picnic basket he clutches to his chest, defensive.

“Okay, so tell me:  what the quiznak is a fried banana sandwich?” Pidge wonders, tilting her head to the side.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” Lance says, looking far too smug to know something that Pidge doesn’t.

“So do you fry the banana before or after you put it between the bread?”

“You fry the whole thing,” Lance says. He unwraps the sandwich - revealing something that would look just like sliced toast if not for a faint pink sheen - and waves it under her nose. “And I’m willing to share.”

Pidge, now far more curious than reluctant, takes the sandwich. “Is there anything else on it?”

“Oh, wouldn’t  _you_  like to know.” Lance smirks - and Pidge hasn’t a clue why.

Is it  _just_  because she’s showing curiosity in a quiznaking  _sandwich_?

But Pidge shrugs and takes a bite.

She almost chokes when the familiar taste and  _texture_  of peanut butter hits her tongue, buried amongst a mouthful of not-quite-bread. But she forces herself to chew slowly and thoughtfully, and after swallowing she lowers the sandwich, though she wants nothing more than to scarf the rest of it down, never mind the fact that it doesn’t taste  _quite_  right.

Something sits heavily in Pidge’s heart, a lump rather than peanut butter stuck in her throat, and she can’t believe she’s getting emotional over a  _fried banana sandwich_.

“So…” Lance shoots her a worried glance. “Did you like it?”

Pidge stares between him and the sandwich, then quietly admits, “I’m not sure, but”—she wraps the sandwich in its foil and offers it back to him—”I don’t think I should eat anymore.”

“Why not? I made another, so you can finish it if you—”

Pidge wipes her eyes. “If I keep eating, I might cry.”

“I—oh.” Lance wraps an arm around her shoulders - his skin is, ironically, now a welcome distraction from the misery and homesickness swirling in her head - and says, “I-I’m sorry. I thought the peanut butter—”

“It’s fine, Lance.” Pidge sniffs and presses her fingers into her eyes, trying to compose herself. “Just give me a tick.”

Lance’s silence is agreement enough, and he rubs her arm while she reins in her unsteady breathing. She leans heavily into him - standing on her own power costs too much effort - and allows herself one shaky sob.

“I-I’m okay,” Pidge says when she finally pulls away from him, pleased with the relative steadiness of her voice.

“You sure?” Lance says, sounding skeptical.

Pidge offers him a smile - a genuine one - and nods. “Yeah.” She grips her data pad tightly. “Thank you.”

“Oh, anything for you, Pidge.” Lance flashes her a brilliant smile and  _winks_. He reaches over her - Pidge holds her breath, again conscious of how little distance separates them and how  _undressed_  he is - but hesitates.

“What floor?” Lance asks her, his finger poised over the console. “You going up to the bridge?”

“I—” Then Pidge realizes that neither of them pressed a button and that they’ve been standing chatting in an unmoving elevator.

Pidge decides to seize the opportunity this presents her, as her brief bout of emotion left her drained and reluctant to do anything productive. Steeling herself, she says, “I haven’t been swimming in a long time, so I think I’ll join you. Wait for me?”

Without waiting longer than it takes to witness a hint of a blush on Lance’s ears, she grins and skips out of the elevator, heading towards her bedroom and wondering if she even has a bathing suit.


	79. Bully and Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompted: Pidge's bully hits on her and Lance (and Hunk) gets mad (in a nutshell)
> 
> Canon-verse, angst and fluff (i guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/176224065503/remember-the-blond-guy-at-pidges-school-who)
> 
>  **warning for sexual harassment-type stuff** (it's not bad, just Annoying)

Pidge lets her hair grow in space, on the route from the rift between realities to Earth. The long journey leaves no time for extra grooming, and by the time her hair brushes her shoulders, she decides she likes it enough to keep it that way.

But she misses her long hair, misses tying it into a ponytail and twirling the end around a pen while focusing on something else. Misses her mother carding her fingers through the strands and finding that one off-color clump. Misses begging Matt to braid her hair, even misses when she was small (or smaller) and her mother was busy and she had to endure her father’s inexperienced and rough brushing.

She forgets it makes her look like a girl again and can’t help noticing the little side-eyes that Lance keeps shooting her way.

It rankles her nerves and brings heat to her face, aggravating her enough that a few light-years from Earth she finally snaps, “What is your  _problem_ , Lance?”

“Problem?” Lance’s eyes widen in bewilderment, and he raises his hands defensively. “I don’t have a problem.”

“Then why the quiznak do you keep  _looking_  at me like that?”

Lance flushes, his gaze darting away from her while he scratches his chin. “I…uh…like what, Pidge?”

“Like…like—I don’t know!” Pidge throws her hands up, frustrated, and when Lance glances back towards her, she, absurdly, wants nothing more than to cry. “I-is there something on my face? Is that it?” She touches her cheek, half-expecting to find something stuck there.

“Actually, yeah, you got an…eyelash.” Lance leans towards her, his thumb brushing just underneath her eye. He pulls away with a grin and shows her…an eyelash. “Make a wish, Pidge.”

Pidge releases the air trapped in her lungs and grumbles, “I wish you’d stop doing that.”

Lance quirks an eyebrow at her and asks, “Doing what?”

“ _That_ ,” Pidge replies, gesturing towards him. And though she knows “that” is an unspecific answer, she can’t think of a better one with sweaty hands and a furiously pounding heart.

But she knows it has something to do with Lance.

* * *

 

Pidge regrets letting Allura and her father convince her to go on this stupid publicity tour.

It’s worse when she stands at the front of a high school gymnasium, a basketball hoop and backboard casting an ominous shadow over the podium. The school’s entire student body populates the ugly yellow bleachers, staring at Pidge and her teammates with expressions ranging from excitement to apprehension.

The Galra attack Earth, yet  _high school_  goes on.

Not that Pidge ever  _attended_  a high school, as she was too busy denying her family’s death, infiltrating a government space exploration program, and fighting an intergalactic war alongside actual aliens.

And…her friends.

Pidge glances over at Lance and Hunk. The latter smiles awkwardly, his hand held up in a wave, while the former, naturally, soaks up the audience’s applause, his hands resting on his hips - it’s very much a  _superhero_  pose - and a radiant grin stretching his face.

They’re a calming presence, at least, and seeing Lance so comfortable helps put her at ease.

The soft smile he sends her way doesn’t hurt either.

Feedback from the podium’s microphone startles Pidge, and she spins around to hear the student body president - a blond boy of unspectacular height and build - conclude his brief speech.

The gym explodes with noise as hundreds of students stand and climb down the bleachers, nudged along by disgruntled teachers to rush them back to their classes. But before Pidge can so much as relax - perhaps even lean against Lance - the president turns to them.

Turns to  _her_.

“Uh, Katie?”

Pidge’s eyes widen, her breath catching in her shock. Beside her, Lance very obviously stiffens, and Hunk glances between her and the student, his brow furrowed.

“Aha, you don’t recognize me, do you?” The boy rubs the back of his neck and smiles before holding out his hand. “We were in the same class in eighth grade, remember?”

Pidge’s gaze drifts down to his offered hand, then flits back up to his face. Something like recognition flickers in the back of her mind, and when she remembers her heart pounds uncomfortably and she forces herself to stand her ground, to keep from backing up a step.

“Yes,” she says through gritted teeth, a smile that feels more like a grimace plastered onto her face. “I think I remember you now.”

The boy grins. “Great,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if it was you, because you’re a lot, well,  _prettier_  than I remember—”

Pidge’s eyebrow twitches.

“—but I guess that’s just how girls look in middle school, right?”

Pidge scowls, her hands clenching into fists at her side, but before she can retort, Lance snaps, “Because I’m sure  _you_  were such hot stuff in eighth grade, asshole.”

Pidge spins her head around so fast a wave of dizziness hits her. And as she shakes it away, she notices Lance’s expression.

He glares at the boy, a deep scowl twisting his mouth and his arms crossed.

If Pidge didn’t know better, she would think that Lance is  _jealous_.

“I-I was just…” The boy stares at him, his eyes wide in surprise. “Katie and I were friends in middle school, dude, so chill.”

“Really,” Hunk says skeptically, his own quirked eyebrow weighing in on the conversation.

“Sure!” The boy chuckles before he sends a frantic glance Pidge’s way. “She helped me with my homework—”

“Stole my homework and copied it,” Pidge grumbles.

“—gave each other nicknames—”

“Oh,  _nerd_  is such a cute nickname.”

The student, apparently losing his patience, rolls his eyes and says, “Then let me make it up to you?”

Anger twists in Pidge’s gut - anger that her childhood bully thinks he can wipe away years of torment with obfuscating words and a backhanded compliment - and displaces any trace of panic she felt when familiarity set in.

“How the quiznak do you intend to do that?”

“What’s a—never mind.” Then he smiles - doing an  _awful_  job of reading the room, in Pidge’s opinion - and wonders, “Are you busy tonight?”

Pidge opens her mouth to reply -  _“Too busy for you, dick.”_ \- but Lance beats her to it.

“She’s too busy saving the universe for the likes of your ungrateful ass.”

Somehow, warmth spreads through her chest at Lance’s defense…but irritation also curls in her gut, so she shoots him a glare of her own.

“Fine,” the boy says, rolling his eyes yet somehow not seeming put-off. “How about tomorrow night?”

“How about never,” Hunk says with a sickly sweet smile.

He’s shorter than both of Pidge’s teammates, his physique utterly impressive next to Hunk’s bulk and Lance’s lean build (which she’s let herself admire much too often), but he still holds his ground.

“What about after you  _save_  the universe, Katie?” he says, baring his teeth in an unfriendly smile.

Pidge sighs. “I really didn’t want to do this,” she says, her bayard materializing in her hand, “but you’re  _really_  getting on my nerves, you  _bully_.”

The student body president flinches as if recoiling from a slap - the word “bully” striking deeper than Pidge expects. But it’s gratifying that she can level even some of the hurt he inflicted on her in school, and she smirks in satisfaction.

It doesn’t last.

The boy glowers at her and steps towards her. “You think that just because you’re a  _Paladin of Voltron_  - which, for all we know, is some government hoax cooked up by your crazy dad—”

Blood rushes past Pidge’s ears, and she lashes out without thinking.

Her electrified bayard strikes him in the ribs.

He shudders and falls with a groan, his blond hair standing on end as he clutches his abdomen. “W-what the  _hell_?”

Pidge lowers her bayard. “You done yet?”

The boy glares up at her - blood drips from his lip where he must’ve bit it - and stands.

As soon as he’s upright, his eyes narrowed angrily, Hunk grabs his shoulder and asks, “Don’t you have a class or something to get to?”

Lance shifts noticeably closer to Pidge, his hand twitching as if he wants nothing more than to summon his own bayard. And as easy as running the student through with a sword would be, they need to make sure the mess left is easy to clean.

The student glances from Hunk just behind him to Lance hovering beside Pidge. “Why not at least give me a chance, Katie?”

Pidge snorts. “You bullied me in middle school and grew into a pushy asshole who probably only got elected student body president because he threatened to distribute nude pictures of every girl he knew on the Internet.” Her lips twist into a scowl and she adds, “And you also insulted my father.”

Then a  _crazy_  idea strikes her, for if shocking him with her bayard didn’t work…

She wraps an arm around Lance’s waist, hoping her face isn’t as red as it feels when she tucks herself into his side. “Also, this is my boyfriend, Lance. He’s  _also_  a Paladin of Voltron,  _can_  take no for an answer, and is hot to boot.”

“Wait, you think I’m—ow!” Lance yelps when she pinches his side, but he takes her queue and throws an arm around her shoulders.

(Pidge tries not to think about how  _familiar_  and  _friendly_  the gesture is.)

The boy’s eyes narrow as he touches his bleeding lip. Pidge’s heart pounds, her grip on her bayard tight, but then he shrugs and says, “I heard that so-called alien princess’ ‘public address’, Katie. You’re still a nerd.”

“So what if I am?” Pidge demands. She grins at him and says, “It’s just another part of my identity.”

He scowls and mutters, “I’m going to class.” He turns tail and walks away, his pace speedy.

Once he escapes their sight, Pidge dismisses her bayard and reluctantly drops her arm with a relieved sigh.

“What an asshole,” Lance says, glaring in the direction he fled.

But he keeps his arms around Pidge’s shoulders.

“What was his name again?” Hunk asks.

Pidge blinks, surprised by the question, but wracks her brains before confessing, “I, uh, forgot.” She smiles sheepishly at him and Lance, and when they both shoot her matching wide-eyed glances, she bursts into laughter.

Pidge laughs so hard tears prick at her eyes and air evades her lungs. She doubles over, hanging off Lance, delight nearly overwhelming her, and when her laughter finally ceases - while she’s still gasping for breath - Lance raises an eyebrow at her and wonders, “You done yet?”

She giggles. “Yes,” she says, “but quiznak, that felt good.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Pidge straightens, then, still high on mirth, wraps her arms around Lance. “Yeah.”

“I’ll just…wait for you guys with the Lions,” Hunk says, his squeaking footsteps echoing throughout the gymnasium in his rush to retreat,

Pidge frowns in that direction. “What’s the hurry?”

Lance peers down at her and, his face darkening, wonders, “Did you mean that?”

“Mean…what?”

“What you said about me.”

Pidge blinks, confused until the memory of her own thoughtless words hits her.

She pulls away from Lance, her face hot and her gaze flitting at any and every point in the gym that isn’t him. “I, uh…you’re obviously a Paladin of Voltron, Lance.”

“Oh,” Lance says, and she glances up at the sound of his subdued tone. “That’s all?”

She forces a laugh and shrugs. “Well, you’re definitely not my boyfriend.” When he just stares at her, she sighs and mutters, “But I kind of want you to be.”

Pidge’s cheeks burn as the words - more deliberate than earlier - escape her. Her heart pounds, filling her ears, at her calculated risk - for, unless she missed her guess, Lance  _was_ …jealous.

The hypothesis boggled the mind, so Pidge needs evidence, even if it’s from a misguided experiment.

“So…” Lance says with an oddly shy smile that still sets her heart racing. “Are you busy tonight?”


	80. life saver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted
> 
> Canon-verse, angst with a touch of crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/176474876303/life-saver)
> 
> also includes one-sided allurance

Tiny, sharp claws digging into her scalp woke Pidge.

At first the sensation drifted into her dream, of someone scratching her head and running fingers through her hair. But the nails grew more insistent, the feeling uncomfortable, so she jerked her head.

And jolted awake, swiping at her head to rid herself of the itching.

Her hand collided with something soft and  _squeaky_.

“I’m sorry!” Pidge said, all traces of sleep vanishing in her alarm. She sat up and found the pink mouse - Chuchule, she thought - smoothing the fur on its head and glaring at her indignantly.

“Why the quiznak did you think I’d want a head massage in my sleep?” she wondered, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at the mouse.

The tip of Chuchule’s tail twitched, and without acknowledging her question, it climbed down from her bed and skittered halfway to the door before pausing and looking back at her.

(Pidge nearly lost sight of Chuchule in all the junk scattered across her floor.)

“What?” She tilted her head, as if that would help her decipher the mouse’s purpose. “If you want food, Hunk’s the one you should bother.”

A different mouse - small and blue, perhaps Chulatt - emerged from underneath a discarded shirt, dragging something behind it. Behind it were the other two mice carrying a…Gameflux controller between them.

“Did you…drag that all the way here from Lance’s room?” Pidge asked suspiciously.

In reply, all four mice took hold of the controller’s cord in their tiny paws and brought it to their tiny jaws, poised beneath their tiny fangs.

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she lurched from her bed and dove for them. “Hey, don’t you dare!” she said, grabbing the controller and snatching the cord from their grips.

Three mice let go, but Chulatt, smaller and more insistent, dangled from the end by its paws as Pidge gathered the cord. She pulled it up to look Chulatt in the eye and narrowed her own. “What mischief has Allura put you up to?” she demanded.

Chulatt nibbled on the coating.

“What sort of demon rabbit  _are_  you?” Pidge shrieked, taking the mouse and gently tugging it off the cord.

It sat in her hand and blinked slowly at her.

Pidge rolled her eyes and squatted, lowering her hand so Chulatt could hop off. Then, to her surprise, all four mice convened, exchanging quick glances, and fled her room by climbing the fairy lights hanging over her bed and skittering into an air duct.

They left Pidge with a slightly damaged Gameflux controller sans console in her hand.

“Guess I should take this to Lance’s room,” she grumbled, winding the cord around the controller.

She knew it wasn’t a good idea - that maybe she should save this unimportant task for later - but if she didn’t do it now the controller would just be another piece of detritus covering her bedroom floor.

After changing into her clothes, Pidge left her room and padded down the hallway to Lance’s door. A part of her hoped he wouldn’t be there - she and Hunk had work to do and Lance would undoubtedly distract her either with a game or by dragging her to Kaltenecker’s enclosure - but a smile pushed at her lips anyway, anticipation hastening her.

She half-expected no answer when she knocked on the door, holding her breath and waiting for a reply. When she received none, she swallowed her disappointment and tried again; if he didn’t answer she’d just go in, return the controller to its place with the Gameflux, and leave.

“Not now, Hunk!” someone called from inside.

“It’s…me,” Pidge said lamely, wringing the controller cord in one hand while shifting her feet.

She flinched at the sound of a crash from inside, followed by a groan that put her on edge and had her reaching for the panel to open the door.

“Lance, are you—” The door slid open, and Pidge pulled up short, her gaze falling on Lance, sprawled on the floor with his legs tangled in his bedsheets. “Uh…what happened to you?”

Lance propped himself up on his elbows and shot her a glare. “Intrusion of privacy much, Pidge?”

She crossed her arms. “It sounded like you hurt yourself, but it seems the only thing you injured is your ego.”

He rolled his eyes and sat up, disentangling his legs from the sheets and rubbing the back of his head with a grimace. “Oh, ha ha, Pidge,” he mumbled.

“What  _were_  you doing?” Pidge wondered, scanning the room for anything unusual.

Lance was fully dressed, so that ruled out sleeping in (though not a nap), but it sounded like Hunk came by earlier and—

Something sparkling caught her attention, peeking out from underneath Lance’s sheets. Pidge crept closer to investigate, ignoring his cry of dismay, and twitched the blanket aside.

A necklace strung with translucent blue crystal beads that glittered in the light greeted her.

Her heart sank, reaching some conclusion faster than her mind could, but she broke the awkward silence with, “You make jewelry?”

“Uh…” Lance flushed red as he stood and snatched the necklace, hiding it behind his back. He cleared his throat and said, “I do now.”

Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. “For…?”

Lance grabbed his jacket from its hook on the wall and dropped the necklace into a pocket. “None of your business,” he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes.

But she knew.

The realization made her chest tighten, a lump lodging in her throat, and she swallowed and said, “I-I didn’t think you felt that strongly about Allura.”

“Okay, time for you to leave,” Lance said, pressing his hands to her shoulders and nudging her towards the open door.

Like every time he touched her, Pidge was torn between wanting to shove him off or pull him closer, but she stood her ground and said, “Wait—”

“Nope!” Lance insisted, pushing her with a little more force. “You’re just going to make fun of me like last time and—”

“I’m not,” Pidge protested. “I…” She bit her lip, taking in the frown and embarrassed flush in his cheeks, and admitted, “Maybe Hunk and I were a little…harsh.”

“Oh, only a little,” Lance retorted. But he dropped his arms and stepped away from her. “You needed something?”

“Not…really.” She offered him the Gameflux controller - which she’d nearly forgotten at the sight of the handmade necklace - and said, “This got into my room somehow”—thanks to the mice likely as not—”and the cord’s a bit…chewed.” She held up the damaged part of the cord for Lance to see.

To her relief, Lance smiled as he took the controller. “Why would they do that?” he wondered. “They’re not really…”

“Into vandalism?” Pidge suggested with an answering smile of her own.

“Yeah!” Lance laughed, then said, “Hey, while you’re here, you want to help me with the dungeon I’m stuck on?”

Pidge fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, torn between responsibility and…Lance. It was the Garrison all over again, but she no longer had her missing family tugging her in the opposite direction.

So this time she chose Lance.

* * *

 

Lance slumped in dejection as  _“Game Over”_ flashed across the screen. “Guess that dragon’s nastier than you thought,” he said.

Pidge snorted and held her hand out for the controller. “You just weren’t listening to me.”

Lance’s eyes narrowed as they landed on her outstretched hand. “If you think I’m letting you take over—”

Pidge sighed and snatched the controller from his hands. She ignored his indignant cry, instead focusing on the screen as the last save point appeared. “Look, it’s really not that hard,” she explained as she moved her avatar - or, well, Lance’s avatar - through the level. “So long as you keep your shield up - even if it slows you down - it’ll take more for an enemy to kill you.”

“Eh.” Lance shrugged, propping his knee on his leg and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. “I guess dying in video game beats dying for real.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Pidge replied snidely. “A lot of things beat dying for real.”

“What about eating food goo for every meal for the rest of your life?”

Pidge bit her lip, fighting the smile that rose to her lips almost without her permission. “Depends on how many meals I have left?” she said, laughing and nudging Lance in the side. When he didn’t respond beyond a noncommittal hum, she glanced sideways at him.

He frowned and said, “That’s…not really funny, Pidge.”

“You mentioned it first,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Right…”

“Okay!” Pidge said brightly. She paused the game, set the controller aside, and turned to face him with her hands resting on her ankles. “What the quiznak is eating at you?”

Lance had the audacity to feign nonchalance. He shrugged and pointed at the screen. “I can’t beat that—”

“To hell with the stupid game, Lance!” Pidge said, flailing her arms to resist the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. “What is going—”

“I thought she might like me, okay?”

Pidge’s jaws clicked shut, startled by the admission. “O-oh,” she said, something like numbness spreading through her. “She d-doesn’t,” she pointed out reluctantly, rubbing the back of her neck. “She’s obviously into—”

“I know that now, Pidge,” Lance snapped, leaning forward and scowling at the screen. “I just thought, after she basically resurrected me—”

“Wait,  _what_?” She gaped at him, but the fool just kept  _talking_ :

“I mean, first I pushed her out of the way, but Red and I got hit instead and it killed me - I  _think_  - so somewhere between dying and living again I fooled myself into thinking she felt the same as I did.” He sighed, eyes unfocused as a frown that screamed  _lovesick_  crossed his face.

(Why did her own lips twist to match?)

But she blinked, startled by the torrent of words. “That was kind of…” Pidge cleared her throat. “When the quiznak did you  _die_?”

Lance’s cheeks colored as he rubbed the back of his neck. “When Sendak attacked last,” he said.

“Oh,” Pidge said. “I—why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t  _stay_  dead, right?”

“Right…but that might’ve been important.” Pidge smirked. “Also, you never miss a chance to brag, so receiving a, uh, did she revive you with CPR?”

Lance laughed without much humor. “No, she just used her weird magic powers,” he explained. “But it was enough.”

“I see, but…” Pidge rested her hand on his arm and wondered, “Why would her  _resurrecting_  you make you think that she…likes you too?”

“Because it was a  _moment_ , Pidge,” Lance grumbled, his face falling again. “We had a moment, and she  _did_  save my life. That’s pretty romantic, right?”

Pidge’s eyes widened, and a giggle escaped her. When he tossed her a reproachful glare, she said, “Lance, saving your life isn’t proof that she likes you like  _that_.”

“I guess not…”

“If it was, you’d be in love with Coran!” Pidge covered her mouth to muffle her laughter, but her next thought sobered her immediately, her heart sinking at another ill-timed realization. “Quiznak, y-you’d be in love with  _me_.”

Her tone wavered as the words left her mouth, and her next few breaths shook her.

Was that why irritation burrowed under her skin if he so much as expressed interest in another girl in front of her? Was this why it suddenly hurt just to  _breathe_?

“Pidge?” Lance’s low voice pulled her from her spiraling thoughts, and when her eyes snapped up to meet his, he frowned and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Pidge said. She shook her head and tore her gaze away, returning it to the screen still waiting to resume game play. “I just spaced out.”

“Something eating at  _you_?” Lance said with a slight smirk.

“There wasn’t,” she said carefully, reaching for the controller.

“Well, if you say so,” Lance said, sounding skeptical, but to her relief he didn’t press her. Instead he added, “I guess you’re right though.”

“I often am,” Pidge quipped. She toggled through the pause screen options, playing with the joystick. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Lance rolled his eyes, then muttered, “You’re right about saving people not meaning… _that_.”

“Sure…” She peeked at him from the corner of her eye, frowning when she took in his downcast features. “Lance, I didn’t mean—”

“I’ll get over it, Pidge,” he said. He leaned back against his bed, his fingers drumming on his legs, and smiled. “I survived death, so what’s a little crush?”

 _Too much,_ Pidge thought when his shoulder brushed hers and heat rose to her face. But she smiled at him - in what she hoped was a reassuring manner - and agreed, “Nothing at all. In fact, it’s easier to beat than this dungeon.”

She only wished the words didn’t taste like a lie.


	81. dumb luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unprompted
> 
> Post-canon, domestic fluff with a touch of crack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/176680862383/dumb-luck)

Only sheer dumb luck could’ve predicted this, where a frantic Lance draped himself across a door frame just a heartbeat before Pidge could pass through the doorway.

He had to stifle a startled jump as Pidge raised an eyebrow at him, instead composing his face and telling himself he  _meant_  to do that!

“Lance,” Pidge said testily, clutching her computer to her chest and shifting the backpack on her shoulders, “I have work to do and need to get to my desk.”

Lance laughed, his heart pounding even as he stuffed his hands into his pockets and stretched his legs out till his toes hit the opposite frame. “So early? The day is still young, so why not sleep in?”

Pidge pressed her lips together and asked, “Aren’t you the one always complaining about how late I sleep?”

Lance blinked. “Uh, no, I was just repeating something Hunk said, obviously.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “Now, you”--he rested his hands on her shoulders and nudged her backwards--”have been overworking yourself lately, as usual.”

“ _That_  sounds more like you,” Pidge grumbled under her breath. But she smiled, fond enough that the warmth in Lance’s chest distracted him from his mission for a long tick.

“Does this mean you’ll take a rest?” Lance wondered hopefully. He kneaded her shoulders - not his best massage, but he didn’t have the time to do much more than improvise - and added, “You can hang out in bed, I’ll bring you tea and some of that peanut butter brownie Hunk made us, and hey, once I finish cleaning up in the kitchen, I’ll sit with you and we can watch a movie, yeah?”

Pidge frowned. “That...does sound nice,” she admitted. “And I guess Allura doesn’t need these files  _yet_.”

“That’s the spirit!” Lance grinned, hardly daring to believe his luck, and let go of Pidge to extract her computer from her arms. “Now, you sit tight here, and I’ll--”

“Or, if you want,” Pidge said as he set the computer aside on the dresser, “we can eat in the kitchen and I’ll help you clean up. Then we can get to a movie faster?” She smirked and added in a lower voice, “Or we can skip the movie and...”

Lance’s grin froze onto his face as Pidge stepped up to him and rested a hand on his chest - right over his pounding heart.

(He wasn’t sure why his heart beat so rapidly now.)

“Uh...that sounds fantastic, Pidge!” Lance said, wincing at the way his voice cracked. His mind frantically quested for an excuse, something to keep her  _here_  and far away from  _there_ , so he stuttered, “B-but it wouldn’t be much of a break for you if you don’t stay here!”

Her hand dropped away from his chest, her eyes sharp on his face and her lips twisting into a frown. “What are you hiding, Lance?” she demanded.

“Hiding?” Lance said with a chuckle. He waved his hands dismissively and said, “I’m not hiding anything! Why do you think I’m hiding something?”

Pidge tapped her foot. “I can tell you’re lying,” she said, “and I’m guessing it has to do with something  _outside_  our room.” She side-stepped.

Lance reacted faster, stepping with her.

Pidge tried again, but Lance was ready. She growled in frustration, a sound Lance might’ve counted a triumph if his objective  _was_  to tease her.

This time Pidge paused to take stalk, long enough that Lance stepped back towards the door, worried she’d attempt a feint.

She did, but Lance was prepared and once more planted himself in the doorway.

“For quiznak’s sake, Lance!” Pidge hissed. “What are you hiding? And it  _better_  not be--”

“I’ll let you out if you guess the password,” Lance blurted. When Pidge’s jaw dropped, he forced a smirk and said, “Bet you can’t.”

“Are you sure you want to take that bet?” she said.

“Absolutely,” Lance said, “because if you  _can’t_  get it, then you have to stay here until”--he glanced over her head at the alarm clock on her bedside table--”two in the afternoon.”

Pidge scowled. “Really? You’re putting me in timeout for half the day? For  _what_?”

“Should’ve thought of that  _before_  you woke up earlier than usual!” Lance screeched, growing exasperated.

“And you’re getting desperate.” Before he could deny it, she bit her lip and added, “You’d better not be trying to cover up evidence of destruction.”

“Well--”

“And if it’s a dead body, you know I could help you hide it, right?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and, absurdly, his cheeks warmed. “Aw, Pidge!” He rested a hand over his heart and threw his head back in a fake swoon. “You  _do_  care!”

“Quit pushing your luck,” Pidge retorted with a snort. “I’m still mad about this timeout thing.” Then she blinked and asked, “It’s not a dead body, is it?”

“Of course not!” Lance said, his eyes wide and offended. “We’re Paladins! Why would we have a dead body to hide?”

“No, we kill our enemies out in the open,” Pidge muttered darkly, but before Lance could think of a response beyond a quiet gasp, she grumbled, “Fine, I accept the bet.”

“Great!” Lance leaned down, close enough that her breath warmed his jaw, and smirked. “What’s the secret password?”

Pidge bit her lip, thinking, then grabbed his collar and tugged him closer.

She kissed him.

She let him go and stepped away before he reacted, except for an undoubtedly hot face. When she crossed her arms and frowned expectantly at him, his jaws flapped uselessly, arm outstretched to point.

“H-how did you know?” he wondered.

Pidge grinned. “Oh, Lance, you’re  _so_  predictable sometimes, you know that?” She grabbed her computer from the dresser and picked up her discarded backpack. “Really, next time you want to keep me somewhere, you should just skip straight to seduction.”

She winked on her way out the door.

Somehow, it only took Lance a tick to find the wherewithal to chase her, impatience and panic pushing him into a sprint. Despite his longer legs, Pidge had the head start, and it wasn’t until he doubled over, panting, in the doorway of her office that the consequences of one long ago not-date at the strangest mall he’d ever visited made themselves known.

Something crashed to the floor, loose pieces of paper flying into the air, and Pidge called, “L-Lance?”

Lance straightened, his back stiff, but approached her as quickly as he dared. “Yes, my love?”

Pidge slowly pivoted to face him, her eyes wide behind her glasses while she gestured at the  _captivating_  sight behind her.

“Why the  _quiznak_  is Kaltenecker in my office?”


	82. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompts: (24) “Let’s just stay in bed.” / (32) “This is gonna sound cheesy but…I love when you’re half-asleep and talking nonsense.”
> 
> Modern AU (probably), mostly fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the implied nudity and sexual content
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/177709910708/for-the-fluff-prompts-what-about-32-with-plance)

Pidge wakes to sunlight streaming in through the gaps between dark blue curtains. The light warms the air, and despite the noisy hum of the air conditioning unit over the door her skin is still sticky with sweat.

She groans and tugs the star-studded bedsheets over her head - she’s not ready to get out of bed and it’s marginally cooler burrowed underneath - before rolling onto her side.

Her nose brushes against something firmer than a pillow.

“How long have you been awake?” she mumbles into Lance’s arm.

The bed shifts as Lance joins her under the covers, his warm breath against her face indicating that he’s facing her since she refuses to open her eyes. A part of her is too hot and wants to kick him and his body heat out of bed, but the other part prefers to latch onto him and snuggle closer.

The latter wins out.

Lance wraps an arm around her waist while he reaches up with his other hand to brush sweaty hair off her face. “How did you know I was already awake?” he wonders in a low voice.

“You’re always awake before me,” Pidge reminds him. She sighs, tightening her own hold around his abdomen and cracking her eyelids to meet his eyes. “I think next time I’m going to make you sleep somewhere else.”

“What? Why?” Lance frowns. “This is  _my_  room!”

“It’s too hot and you’re too warm and I know I say embarrassing things in my sleep.” Pidge rests her forehead against his chin, putting the lie in her words - she relishes their time together too much to  _actually_  follow through on her threat - and hoping he won’t see the flush that must fill her cheeks.

“Well…”

Suspicion creeps into her when he trails off, and she’s wider awake. She pulls away just enough to tilt her head to look him in the eye again - right when he’s avoiding hers. “Well what?” she asks, an eyebrow raised.

Lance smiles sheepishly and says, “This is gonna sound cheesy but…I love when you’re half-asleep and talking nonsense.”

Pidge reaches up and grabs a pillow.

It smacks Lance in the face.

“Ow!” He recoils and covers his nose when she takes it back and tosses it aside. He glares at her over his hands and says, “What was that for?”

“Stop eavesdropping on my sleep-talking!” Pidge says, scowling. “Like I said, it’s embarrassing!”

“That’s why you’re blushing, is it?”

The heat rushing to her face is not a welcome distraction from the sun’s heat. “No!” she lies. “I’m not blushing!”

“Oh, really?” Lance bops her nose with a fingertip, making her scowl deeper, and says, “I haven’t seen you that red since the first time you told me you love me.”

Pidge rolled onto her back and covered her face with an arm, then decided her best tactic would be to simply change the subject. “Anyway, since when do you care about sounding  _cheesy_?” She peeked at him from under her arm. “You say cheesy stuff all the time.”

Lance sits up, the bedsheets falling from his shoulders, and crosses his arms. “I…do  _not_!”

“Do too,” Pidge retorts childishly with a smirk. “Wasn’t it just last night you quoted Spanish poetry at me? Neruda, was it?”

Lance’s face reddens, and she feels her own warm anew at the memory. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” Pidge admits, shrugging. She sits up too, the better to look Lance in the eye, and after a split second of consideration she doesn’t bother covering her breasts. “I’m still ignorant of some of your cultural quirks but the poetry surprised me and even if I couldn’t understand it it sounded very…romantic.” She coughs, glancing away and toying with the edge of the blanket.

A smile finds its way onto her lips, a flutter low in her chest when Lance cups her face and tilts it towards him, his other hand rubbing her arm. “I’m not good at the translating thing so I can find one later for you,” he promises with a smile of his own.

“Right now I’d settle for a repeat,” Pidge tells him, fluttering her eyelashes.

Lance swallows. “Um.”

Pidge giggles. “Aw, Lance, you’re  _blushing_!”

“Pidge,” he grumbles, his brow furrowed.

“Lance,” she sings, pressing her thumb to his forehead until it smooths.

“One doesn’t simply recite romantic poetry, Pidge,” Lance whines.

She rests her hands on his shoulders and leans closer to whisper, “Do we have to be in the middle of an obscene act for it?”

She enjoys Lance squirming a bit too much as he nods and mutters, “It’s a…heat of the moment thing.”

“Fine.” Pidge rolls her eyes, but she grabs Lance’s chin and turns him slightly away from her. “Just don’t look at me then.”

To her surprise, he resists and puts his forehead against hers. “No, we’ll do this the right way.”

“I’m getting a whole wheel of cheese from you here then?”

(The warmth in Pidge’s chest is  _much_  better than the heat and humidity that sits in the room.)

Lance holds her face between his hands again, his thumbs soft on her cheeks. He inhales bracingly and soberly recites:

[“Te amo sin saber como, ni cuándo, ni de donde,](https://redpoppy.net/poem37.php)  
Te amo directamente sin problemas ni orgullo:  
Asi te amo porque no sé amar de otra manera.”

Pidge shudders when he pauses and can’t help grinning against his lips when he leans in to kiss her. When he pulls away but doesn’t continue she blinks and wonders, “Is that it?”

“It’s the only stanza I have memorized,” Lance admits with a shy smile, “but maybe if I knew you’d like  _love poetry_ —”

“I’m surprised you know any at all,” Pidge confesses. As he frowns, she hurriedly explains, “When I met you, you were all pickup lines and didn’t have any real romantic substance.” Her eyebrow quirks and she teases, “I can’t believe I was fooled into thinking you had any  _experience_!”

“H-hey!”

Pidge laughs, then when he continues to scoff indignantly she wraps her arms around his neck. “I actually like that I was your first,” she reassures him.

Lance’s hands go to her waist, and he pulls her onto his lap. “I want you to be my last too.”

Pidge kisses him, and they don’t part so easily this time.

This  _physical_  part of their relationship is still something new, but they fit together like two adjacent pieces in a puzzle. And Pidge doesn’t mind the heat so much when she’s sharing it with Lance.

 _That_  feeling doesn’t quite last.

“Get off me,” Pidge says the instant the human furnace lying on top of her feels more smothering than soothing.

“I don’t want to move,” Lance whines, nuzzling into her neck.

His lips tickle against her skin but Pidge presses hers together to fight back a giggle. “But it’s hot and I’m gross and sweaty,” she complains even as she runs her fingers through his hair.

“You didn’t care about that five minutes ago,” Lance points out.

Pidge rolls her eyes at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the popcorn ceiling. “Right, because it’s thanks to  _five minutes ago_  that I’m grosser and sweatier than I was when I woke up.”

Lance sighs but finally rolls off her to lie beside her instead. “There,” he says. “Happy?”

Pidge sits up and pushes her mussed hair away from her face. “I’d be happier if your air conditioning worked properly.”

Lance buries his face in his hands. “Even when she’s awake…”

Which reminds Pidge.

“Lance,” she says, touching his elbow to get his attention, “what did I say in my sleep?”

He drops his arms and looks up at her with a slight frown. “We’re back to that now? I thought you didn’t like”—he forms air quotes with his fingers—” _eavesdropping_.”

“Well, now I’m curious so you have to tell me how I incriminated myself this time.” Pidge smiles sweetly at him. “Come on, you recited poetry for me. It’s only fair you say something to embarrass  _me_  now.”

“When you put it like that…” Lance laughs. He takes one of her hands and intertwines their fingers. “All you said was that it was the twenty-first century and that my house should really have central air conditioning.” His eyes narrow. “I take you into my home and you  _insult_  it, Pidge?”

She ignores his accusation - despite its validity - in favor of the odd disappointment that sits in her gut. “That’s it?”

“I think you said something about hating mosquitoes too.”

Pidge snorts. “So nothing of substance?”

“Well…” Lance’s eyes drift past her.

She follows his gaze towards the closed bedroom door, and hers drifts around, catching on yesterday’s clothes strewn over the floor before landing on her duffel bag lying open at the foot of the bed.

For the first time, the air inside the room actually feels stifling, and for a long second Pidge can’t breathe.

“Well what?” she says, returning her attention to Lance.

He doesn’t look at her as he says, “You said you wish you could stay here anyway.”

Pidge’s heart sinks at the reminder of the clock ticking towards the morning she has to leave again. Begging a few days off from work isn’t something she can afford to do often.

“It’s my turn next time,” Lance points out with a slight smile as he reaches up to poke her cheek. “And at least at your end we won’t have random relatives opening the door without knocking.”

Pidge flushes at the reminder, clearing her throat and saying, “It only happened once.”

“Yeah, because Marco and the kids were only visiting,” he says with a fond smile.

Pidge likes the way he talks about his family and the love even simple statements exude, but sometimes the embarrassment wins out. She asks, “Your parents aren’t back yet?”

“They won’t be home till later,” Lance says as his thumb runs across the palm of her hand.

“Then let’s just stay in bed,” Pidge says. She lies down, tucking herself under his arm.

“What happened to being gross and sweaty?” Lance wonders even as he obliges her.

Pidge squeezes his fingers tangled with hers. “I decided the pros to staying outweigh the cons,” she says.

Lance’s lips brush her forehead, and she closes her eyes. “Don’t they always?” he mutters.

Pidge’s chest seizes, for that’s a question she still doesn’t know how to answer.


	83. Absence Makes the Heart Grow (Fonder)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: “So, we’re just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?”
> 
> Future canon-verse, angst with some fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/177847738103/58-or-65-with-plance)

Once, Pidge thought distance was the cure to heartsickness, that the more space between them, the less she would feel, but seeing Lance again after almost a year apart has her heart stuttering and a tightness in her chest that makes it difficult to breathe.

He raises a hand in greeting, a broad smile stretching his face - is there the slightest hint of smile lines around his eyes? - when he catches sight of her.

“Pidge!” he calls, and something inside her unravels at the familiar sound of his voice.

And she can breathe again.

“Hi, Lance,” she says with a smile of her own she knows must look too fond. But it’s all she can do not to jump him, to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shirt and smell for herself if he still wears the same cologne.

Lance’s face falters slightly once she stands in front of him, but it lifts again so quickly she wonders if she imagined it. “How much did you miss me, Pidge?”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Sure!”

“Negative fifty,” she tells him with a smirk.

“Hey!” Lance retorts, scowling. “I’ll have you know I missed you a  _lot_.”

Pidge bites her lip while a stupid warmth she wishes she could leave behind fills her. “Fine,” she grumbles, rolling her eyes. “I missed you too, Lance.”

* * *

 

Old habits die hard, Pidge muses as she and Lance slip into the  _usual_  pattern of teasing banter with some sincerity slipped in. And his touch is as affectionate as ever, his hand ruffling her hair, her fingers latching onto his wrist, his arm flung casually around her shoulders.

It’s overwhelming both in its familiarity and in its newness after the year apart.

Lance left Voltron amicably enough, professing to need time on Earth - at home with his family - to think about his future…and, Pidge always suspected, to move past his breakup with Allura. But a part of her couldn’t help taking it personally when he resigned, when he stayed behind after one tight hug and a vague promise to keep in touch.

(She can count on one hand the number of times they’ve spoken since, and the thought never ceases to make guilt twist in her gut.)

“You staying with your parents?” Lance asks as they wander down a white-sand beach littered with shards of seashells. Clouds darken the sky and turn the waves iron-gray, but there’s barely a breeze to stir the hair hanging loosely around her face.

“I am,” Pidge confirms. She stuffs her hands into her pockets, her shoulders hunched against the chill. “And I thought it was supposed to be  _warm_  here.”

Lance laughs and tugs her closer so that she leans into his warm body. “It’s winter, Pidge,” he points out. “What did you expect?”

She snorts and mutters, “Hard to keep track of Earth’s seasons while I’m in space.”

“I…can imagine,” Lance says, clearing his throat. “You, uh, how’s everyone doing, by the way?”

Pidge pulls away from him and crosses her arms, though that’s a poor defense in the face of the coldness that sets into her bones. “Good,” she says. “Everyone misses you.” She stares unseeingly down the beach, glancing halfheartedly out to sea as if to admire the white spots of foam cresting the waves, waiting for him to ask about someone in particular.

“So…Keith still has a mullet?”

The giggle that escapes Pidge surprises her. “His hair never changes,” she says. “I’m half-convinced it doesn’t grow, actually.”

Lance grins, flashing his teeth, the expression something that reminds her of  _triumph_ , although she can’t explain why. “You planning an experiment based on that?”

“Yes,” she deadpans, rolling her eyes. “I’m designing my parameters now, and every morning I will sneak into his bedroom and measure the length of his hair, accounting for variables like brushing and—” She cuts herself off when Lance doubles over. “Lance, are you—”

He wheezes, and before concern can really set in, she realizes that he’s laughing. “Oh, Pidge, if you do,” he says, catching his breath and straightening so that she can easily see his red face, “please send me the results. Quiznak, just send me all the charts and tables you make; I’m sure I can figure out how to read  _those_!”

Pidge laughs, his amusement almost enough to banish the goosebumps from her skin. “Guess you want to hear about Hunk’s experiments in the kitchen too?”

“Oh, for sure.” Lance surprises her by taking her hand. “Tell me all about Hunk, and Shiro, and Coran, and Romelle, and the mice, and—”

“But only if you tell me about Kaltenecker,” Pidge warns him before he says something she half-dreads hearing.

“Oh, her?” Lance scoffs. He picks up their pace, tugging her along until sand flies out from underneath their feet and Pidge fights to keep up - running on sand isn’t as simple as he makes it look - while her breath comes in shallow pants. “Where’d you park the Green Lion?”

“She’s not a  _car_ , Lance!”

“But where—”

Pidge sighs but reaches out to that thriving connection that sits in the back of her mind. She queries along it, receiving her answer the instant she blinks.

She sees herself through Green’s eyes as soon as the wind picks up, whipping her hair over her face and sand up into her eyes. “Like my ride?” she tells Lance, opening her eyes and glancing at him.

His jaw drops and he says, “I forgot we— _you_  could do that.”

Pidge forces a grin, the slip in his words making it difficult.

* * *

 

“Congratulations on being Earth’s youngest grandfather,” Pidge can’t help quipping when she spots the long-legged calf nursing from their cow.

“Hey, if I’m young Bullwinkle’s grandfather, that makes  _you_  his abuelita,” Lance retorts with a wink.

Pidge presses her lips together, both loving and hating the way his words and that quiznaking wink make heat rise to her face. And instead of shooting off a reply of her own, she incredulously echoes, “ _Bullwinkle_?”

Lance reddens as he says, “He’s a classic cartoon character and he should be honored to have a baby cow named after him!”

Pidge laughs, because his embarrassment over something so silly endears her. “If he has a sister, will you name her Rocky?” she wonders.

Kaltenecker lows, and her calf - Bullwinkle - detaches himself from her and wanders over to Pidge, shiny brown eyes leveled at her with something she swears is curiosity.

Pidge pets the calf’s head, fingers running through thick, coarse fur and over big flopping ears. “He’s cuter than cartoon Bullwinkle though,” she adds.

Lance smiles, glancing between the two of them, but his eyes settle on hers when she looks up. “Yeah,” he says softly, “guess so.”

(Pidge isn’t so naive to think he’s still talking about the calf.)

* * *

 

Her visit to Earth is two-fold, and seeing Lance isn’t even the half of it. But the way he demands her attention even when he isn’t there to mean to distracts her, keeps her mind occupied with him - with the fact that for the first time in almost a year they’re on the same  _planet_  - when she needs time with her family too.

She’s grateful for the quiet afternoon at the Garrison, shadowing her father and catching up with the old classmates she never bothered getting to know during her loneliest year. She eats dinner with her parents and clears the table and sits with them to watch an old science fantasy drama, the one that she and Matt grew up watching, with the quirky time-and-space-traversing alien that picked up human sidekicks like a softhearted kid adopted stray cats.

(The alien in the show reminded her of Coran, at times.)

It’s comfortable and warm sitting snuggled up against her mother, like they haven’t done since before Kerberos, snacking out of the same bowl of popcorn. Her parents chat through the show, but Pidge watches more intently, wondering if she has any digital copies she can take with her when she leaves Earth again.

A buzzing disturbs the peace, and it takes a long, slow moment for her to realize it’s the communicator she left on the coffee table.

Pidge picks it up and puts it to her ear without glancing at the screen. “Hello?” she says, right before stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“…Pidge?”

She bolts upright at Lance’s almost hesitant voice, something in it making her heart pound. When her mother frowns worriedly at her, she smiles in a quick reassurance and waves a hand. To Lance she demands, “Did something happen?”

“W-what? No…”

“Then what—”

“I-I have t-to tell you s-something,” Lance stutters - no,  _slurs_.

Realization sets in, and Pidge mutters an excuse about the call being urgent before retreating to her bedroom and shutting the door. “Lance, a-are you drunk?” she asks. The communicator almost slips through her fingers - quiznak, why are her hands so sweaty? - in her shock, but she fumbles it and presses it more securely to her face.

“I-I’m…yeah, I’m a little d-drunk,” he admits.

His honesty makes her eyes widen, and she wonders how much she can get out of him with only straightforward questions. “Why? I’ve only seen you get drunk once, and you said you  _hated_  it.”

Drunk Lance isn’t much different from sober Lance, except in two crucial ways, and Pidge has a bad, stomach-curdling feeling she’s about to be subjected to one of them.

(The other still makes her shiver if she so much as thinks about it, of his insistent affection, of his warm hands sneaking up the back of her shirt and pressing against bare skin, of her reluctantly shoving him away before one of them does something they’ll regret.)

“I-I hate the  _hangover_ ,” Lance tells her. “And i-it’s my b-br-br—Marco’s birth today. He insisted.”

“Peer pressure,” Pidge says sagely.

“Y-yeah!” Lance agrees, his voice loud enough that she flinches away from the communicator with a hiss. “S-sorry, Katie.”

Pidge bites her lip - she can already tell this will be a difficult conversation to get through - and carefully exhales through her nose. “Lance, why are you calling me?”

“I-I just…I…” He trails off with a heavy sigh - she can imagine him running his fingers through his hair, the awful morose look on his face, the redness in his eyes that comes with drinking or exhaustion or crying or  _all of the above_.

“Lance…” She sits on the edge of her bed, her eyes wandering her childhood bedroom and catching on familiar photographs and dolls and figurines to fill the stifling silence lying between them.

It shouldn’t be like this.

“Lance, talk to me,” she says. “Just…penny for your thoughts.”

To her surprise, he says, “O-okay.”

“Then—”

“Katie,” he breathes, voice so low it’s as if he sits next to her whispering into her ear, “I need to tell you s-something, before you leave again.”

Pidge buries her face in her free hand and exhales, her breath coming out in a shudder. “I-I’m not—”

But she doesn’t have the heart to lie to Lance, not anymore.

“Lance, I don’t  _want_  to—”

“I love you.”

At this rate, his surprises  _will_  give Pidge a heart attack.

It’s the steadiest and most confident he’s sounded since she answered his call, and it knocks the breath out of her and leaves her utterly  _speechless_.

“Katie?” he says when, seconds later, she still hasn’t formulated a response more eloquent than a wide-eyed gaze at her bedroom door. “Pidge?”

“I…Lance, I—” With her skin aflame and heart pounding, Pidge ends the call and flings the communicator away from her.

It lands with a plop on her pillow, but she cares little about its safety at the moment. Instead she falls onto her side and curls into a ball, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees while she tries to calm her beating heart.

Absurdly her eyes grow hot, a tear sliding down her cheek. She reaches to wipe it away, sniffing and scowling, and grumbles, “Why this? And why  _now_?

“I h-hate you,” she says, her voice muffled as she buries her face in her comforter. Her chest aches - impossibly; logically she should be  _ecstatic_  and bouncing off the walls! - but she still grits out, “I love you too, you Earthbound goofball.”

* * *

 

_“When did you say you’re coming back?”_

She’s lost count of the number of times she unraveled her braid, each attempt thus far proving crooked or uneven or too loose or too tight. But determined to get it right without help, she splits her hair into three and tries again.

Allura’s projected face stares at her from where it hovers just over her desk. She raises an eyebrow at Pidge and wonders,  _“What was wrong with that one? It looked perfect to me.”_

Her fingers move almost clumsily weaving her hair together - she wishes she could French braid - as she replies, “It wasn’t centered.”

 _“I thought it was,”_ Allura counters with a smile.

“Yeah, well, braiding your own hair is  _hard_ ,” Pidge whines. “It’s why I always asked you or my mother or Matt or L—” She snaps her jaws shut and frowns at the floor, putting all of her focus into getting a single quiznaking braid  _right_. “Anyway,” she says before Allura can comment on her slip, “what did you want to know?”

 _“When are you returning?”_ Allura asks. She glances down as two of the mice join her, the smaller one’s projection waving emphatically at Pidge.  _“You’re already missed, it seems.”_

“It’s only been a a few days,” Pidge tells her. She ties off the end of her braid, letting the end curl against the base of her neck.

The instant it tucks itself into her collar she growls in frustration and tears out the tie. “For quiznak’s sake!”

 _“What?”_ Allura straightens, her eyes wide in alarm.  _“What happened?”_

“Nothing,” Pidge quickly reassures her, although she can’t quite smooth her scowl. “I’m just giving up on this stupid braid.” She pulls it apart again and bunches her hair into a small bun instead, where she’s satisfied with how it tugs at her skin and won’t get tucked into her shirt collar.

 _“Aren’t you visiting with Lance?”_ Allura says as her brow wrinkles in confusion.  _“Why not ask him?”_

Pidge stiffens and doesn’t quite meet Allura’s eyes - or her projection’s - as she replies, “I’m visiting my family too, but my mother’s not home to help now so—”

_“But what about—”_

“I’ve seen him a couple times,” Pidge interrupts her, forcing a smile onto her face and ignoring the guilty twist in her gut.

She hasn’t so much as acknowledged Lance’s existence in a week…although he hasn’t tried to contact her either.

It’s a thought that helps almost as much as it hurts.

Pidge wipes her sweaty palms on her jeans and licks her lips before she carefully promises, “I’ll see him again before I leave.”

She  _has_  to; she never managed to broach why she really wanted -  _needed_  - to speak to him. His drunken confession is an unexpected wrinkle, but she can work past it - she  _hopes_ , because despite the poor timing and the conflict raging inside her head and heart, remembering it releases a curious flutter in her chest - if they don’t barrel right through it first.

And maybe, just  _maybe_ , it can work in her favor.

_“Which is…when, did you say?”_

Pidge sighs. “I’ll have to bite the bullet soon, won’t I?”

_“Bite a…what?”_

“Figure of speech,” she says, shrugging.

 _“He’ll want to speak with you, Pidge,”_ Allura reassures her as she smiles and both mice in view nod.  _“If anyone can convince him, you can.”_

“I don’t know,” Pidge says. “I haven’t even found the courage to try yet.”

Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be suffering her mess of emotions, the anxiety at the prospect of facing him, the fear of rejection and of leaving unsuccessfully, the utter  _disbelief_  that he feels something for  _her_  - and the melancholy that threatens to set in the instant she leaves Earth, an ache that reeks of homesickness and heartbreak.

Pidge’s place is as much on Earth as it is in space.

“I think you could’ve done a better job, Allura,” she admits quietly, clutching at her elbow and staring at a stain on the carpet - nail polish; she still remembers her mother’s furious attempts at cleaning it while she laid punishment after punishment at Pidge’s feet.

 _“I find that hard to believe,”_ Allura responds with a tight smile.  _“You’ve always had a…way with him that, for a little while, I envied.”_

Pidge’s ears burn, but she can’t help the slightest triumphant and ever so vindictive grin - so much for outgrowing  _her_  jealousy - as she irritably retorts, “Maybe if you hadn’t dumped him—”

 _“I didn’t,”_ Allura cuts her off, her voice low. When Pidge glances up at her in surprise, her eyes are downcast.  _“He ended things.”_

“He  _did_?” Pidge’s jaw drops - she can’t imagine Lance and his ego  _letting_  someone believe that  _he_ _’d_  been the one dumped - but she manages to stammer, “Why the quiznak would he do that?”

 _“That, I think, you’re better off asking him,”_ she says, smirking slightly. But it vanishes as she adds,  _“I do feel…somewhat responsible for his leaving, but at the time he thought that the best for him, and I wasn’t going to force anyone to stay if they didn’t want to.”_

“It wasn’t your fault, Allura,” Pidge says.

 _“Really?”_ Allura quirks a white eyebrow.  _“Just a few ticks ago you implied it_ was _._ _”_

Pidge flushes, her shame making her fidget. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

 _“Perhaps,”_ Allura agreed,  _“but there’s really no point in dwelling on it anymore.”_

“No,” Pidge says. Her eyes flick around her room, gaze never landing on anything for long. The duffel bag full of the belongings she brought with her lies open underneath the window, clothes and a few odd notebooks spilling out and around. Even while she watches, her green friend’s cheek markings gleam from underneath a shirt, and it emerges with a sheet of paper floating over it like an umbrella.

Her friend makes its way to her door - it and Bae-Bae are oddly fond of each other - but the paper flutters to the floor at her feet. Pidge bends down to pick it up, turning it over, her eyes widening in recognition.

A sunset that looks like a child drew and colored it stares up at her.

She never showed it to the person that inspired it, too embarrassed and cautious and  _confused_  about the nameless feeling finding a home deep in her chest.

But she knows what to call it now, knows that it’s time to throw caution - which never suited her, mismatched with her impatience - to the wind and  _dare_.

“Allura,” Pidge says, looking up and offering a smile, “I’m disconnecting. I have to go.”

* * *

 

She finds him in the first place she looks, surrounded by a wide expanse of white sand and seated on a blanket, his arms resting on his knees. His feet are bare, but otherwise he’s not dressed for the beach, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt with the cuffs of his jeans rolled halfway to his knees.

Pidge approaches with the Green Lion’s encouragement egging her on, a backpack slung over her shoulder with her shoes in one hand while her bare feet sink into sand rapidly cooling as the sun inches towards the horizon.

She’s still not accustomed to trudging through sand, so by the time she reaches Lance her legs ache and she can’t get enough air. She drops her backpack on the sand-strewn blanket - what’s the point if sand gets everywhere anyway? - and doubles over, hands on her knees as she fights to breathe.

“A Paladin of Voltron so out of shape?” Lance teases - because somehow of  _course_  her attempt at sneaking up on him fails miserably. “Too bad Zarkon’s not still at large; he’d wipe the floor with you.”

“A wild Lance, found out and about alone?” Pidge retorts after catching her breath and straightening to glare at him.

Lance rolls his eyes and gestures to the red plastic disk half-buried in the sand beside him. “I was playing Frisbee with my niece.”

“Where’d she go?” she wonders, glancing around and half-expecting a girl with pigtails to sprint out of the sea and towards them.

He frowns and whines, “She ditched me when my brother bribed her with ice cream.”

“Oh, the horror,” Pidge says. She sits on the blanket next to him, wiping coarse sand off her shins before crossing her legs. “If I were you, I’d only forgive her if it was peanut butter ice cream.”

“She left me for mango.” Lance glances sideways at her, an eyebrow raised. “Think I should forgive her?”

“I’ll have to think about it.” Pidge nudges him in the side with her elbow - she’s careful to scoot close enough that she doesn’t have to reach far - and quips, “Can I get back to you on that in a few days?”

“Depends…” Lance’s gaze drifts away from her, to where the sun already colors the waves red. “Where are you getting back to me  _from_?”

Pidge blinks, his direct question making her heart stutter, no answer coming to mind. “I…” She sighs and admits, “That…depends.”

“On what?”

 _On you,_ Pidge can’t bring herself to say yet. She bites her lip, seeking for some other answer, some other  _question_ , one that will dispel the tension sitting heavily over them.

Despite her earlier resolve, it’s so hard to simply say,  _come back_.

She wonders if it would’ve been easier if he’d never called her at home.

“GAC for your thoughts?”

His soft question and his arm brushing hers makes her jump - he’s smirking slightly when she glowers at him - and clumsily reply, “We’re on Earth, so we can use pennies.”

Lance frowns, his brow furrowed with what Pidge suspects is irritation. “For God’s sake, Pidge, just tell me why you’re here.”

“I-I’m visiting my  _friend_ ,” she tells him, stunned at his sharp words.

“Right, your  _friend_ ,” Lance sneers, scowling at the damp strip of sand between beach and tide. “Because  _friends_  don’t call each other for days while they’re in the same damn solar system.”

“I—you—gah!” Pidge buries her hands in her hair and  _tugs_ , growing frustrated because this is  _not_  going  _anything_  like she planned and  _hoped_. “Lance, you’re a quiznaking hypocrite!”

Lance stands so rapidly he nearly knocks her over, a quick flash of guilt and an arm outstretched to her right as she flails her arms to recover her balance. But then he’s glaring at her again, his hands curled into tight fists as he casts a shadow over her. He snaps, “You’ve barely called me in the last  _year_ , so why should I think you care enough that  _I_ should call  _you_?”

“You think that’s it?” Pidge hisses, anger making her tongue faster than her brain. “Do you even  _know_  how many times I  _wanted_ to but  _didn_ _’t_  because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from  _me_?” Heat builds in the corners of her eyes, but at this point she doesn’t care. “B-because I thought you’d rather hear from someone else?”

Lance’s eyes widen, his posture loosening and with shame crossing his face. “Pidge—”

“Y-you let me believe that  _she_ broke up with you,” she tells him, reaching up and wiping at her eyes. “I-I don’t—I shouldn’t have cared about that s-so much, but I—why didn’t you tell me  _that_?”

“I didn’t know that’s what you thought,” Lance says. He extends a hand towards her.

Pidge doesn’t take it, still not over her ire. But she sniffs and grumbles, “If you assume, you make an ass out of you and me.”

“Uh…what?”

Pidge snorts, his bewildered expression imbibing her with reluctant amusement that does wonders for her anger. She hugs herself, conscious for the first time that she’s trembling, and stares unseeingly past Lance, at the open ocean and a blood-red sunset.

“A-are we just going to ignore the fact that you drunk-dialed me to tell me you love me?” She dares to glance towards his face, right in time to observe his cheeks darkening and back stiffening. “You  _do_  remember, right?”

“I…yeah.” Lance nods and rubs the back of his neck with a sigh.

“And you… _meant_  it?” she asks suspiciously, wary of a possibility she’d refused to consider before for fear it could break her heart.

“Every word, Pidge,” Lance promises her, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

“You make it sound like it was more than three words.” Pidge bites her lip, but there’s no fighting the grin that stretches across her face or the warmth building in her chest. She wants to reach for his hands - they’re  _right there_  - and wrap her arms around him but she still needs to know, “What changed?”

Lance laughs and scratches his ear. “You’re going to laugh.”

“Try me,” Pidge says, the promised laughter already threatening to bubble through her.

“I…when I saw you for the first time in a year, something inside me…clicked.” He rests a hand over his heart, and Pidge wonders if it pounds as rapidly as hers. “I think it’s something that’s been there…maybe not always, but for a long time, and I just never realized.”

His smile dazzles her, and it’s catching.

Lance takes her hands before she can grab his, his callused skin warm and rough against hers. “Pidge…Katie…whatever the heck your name is…”

Pidge snorts, frowning slightly, but it softens into a smile when he rests his forehead on hers, the tip of his nose brushing hers and his breath warm on her cheek. “Both are me,” she mutters. “I’m both, and right now I just”—she tugs her hand from his grip to touch his jaw—”want to hear you say it sober.”

Lance nods. “I love you, Pidge.”

Tension she hadn’t realized she held leaves her body, her spine relaxing while a breath escapes her. Her whole face is hot - and from this close she knows Lance isn’t much better - but meeting his blue eyes now and watching how they pierce hers is the easiest thing she’s ever done.

But darkness falls fast.

“You must  _really_  love me if you’re missing the sunset just to look into my eyes.”

Lance grins, his hand moving to rest on her shoulder at the crook of her neck, and she has to repress a shiver when his thumb skims over the bare skin that peeks out of her sweater. “Well, a billion sunsets happen every day,” he reminds her in a low voice, “but there’s only one of you, Pidge.”

“I love you too,” Pidge says, “but flattery will get you nowhere with me.” But everything from the flush that fills her to the way her eyes flutter closed put the lie to her words.

She dares to wonder how his lips taste.

(She hopes it’s not like sand.)

“Then instead of leaving—”

Her eyelids fly open, heart jumping into her throat.

“—maybe you can stay too?”

“I— _no_ ,” Pidge denies quickly, pulling away just enough that his face and touch aren’t so distracting. “No, that’s not how—I came to— _no_.”

“Why not?” Lance wonders, wearing a frown as a furrow appears on his forehead.

Pidge wants to wipe it away, but first—

“Th-that wasn’t supposed to  _happen_ ,” she says, stepping away from him. “Why not—no, I’m not staying!”

“Pidge—”

“Come back, Lance.” Pidge finds both of his hands and squeezes, her heart pounding with desperation as she captures his gaze again. “Why do you think I’m here? I’m not just  _visiting_ ; I-I wanted to leave again with you too.”

“What’s the point?” Lance wonders, extracting his hands from hers and waving them. “It’s over; we won the war! We’re not needed anymore.”

“Yes, we  _are_ ,” Pidge insists. Her eyes widen in horror - is that  _really_  what he thinks, about her, about Voltron and the Paladins, about  _himself_? “Do you even—you never even asked what we as a team were doing, never about shoring up alliances or whatever the quiznak Allura and Keith are up to, or Hunk as an ambassador, or Shiro and Matt and the Coalition, or—” Her lips twist as she fights to continue, “Or about  _me_  and what  _I_ _’m_  doing with our systems.”

Lance’s gaze never falters. “Pidge—”

“I never—” She cuts herself off, a sudden heaviness in her chest making it difficult to speak. “I never thought  _you_ , of all people, wouldn’t care.”

He recoils at the accusation, shame crossing his face. “It’s not that I don’t care, Pidge,” Lance reassures her, though he seems to know his words fail when he drops his arms halfway through an attempt to reach for her. “It’s that it’s not my business anymore—”

“Like that stopped you before!” Pidge snaps. “It’s your quiznaking  _nose_  stuck into  _my_  business that got us embroiled with Voltron and Lions and  _aliens_  in the first place!”

“—and sometimes it hurts to hear what you’re up to without me.”

His words stun her - they do that too often, she’s coming to realize. “Lance—”

“I didn’t have a place anymore, Pidge!” he says, his shoulders stiff and his eyes pinched shut. “I left because I didn’t want what I thought I did and nothing made  _sense_  to me anymore, and I needed answers I thought I could find here.”

“And…did you find them?” Pidge crosses her arms, her eyes narrowing. “Did you look past your  _biases_  to find them?”

“I…not yet,” Lance confesses with a chuckle. “Even now you still sound like a walking stats book.”

She rolls her eyes, his amusement not enough to distract her from something that fills her muscles with alarm and her chest with an ache.

Pidge doesn’t know how to reach people on an emotional level the way Lance does, but despite the fear of failure gripping her - of making all of this worse - she knows she has to try.

And it’s now or never, while they stand face to face, with logic on her side.

“Maybe you didn’t just leave us,” Pidge says. “Maybe you left your answers too.”

“I don’t…know what you mean,” Lance admits.

“Do you know how quiznaking  _huge_  the universe is, Lance?” she wonders. She waves an arm towards the now star-studded sky and says, “This is a fraction of a fraction of a  _fraction_  of it, and even with Voltron we haven’t come  _close_  to exploring all of it.”

“So—”

Pidge grabs the collar of his shirt and yanks him towards her - she fails to miss his startled gasp and  _blush_  - to say, “If the universe is so big and Earth is so, so,  _so_  very small in comparison, then doesn’t it stand to reason that the probability of finding your answers here is  _also_  minuscule?”

Lance’s jaw flaps uselessly. “Th-that makes even  _less_  sense!” He yanks himself out of her grip but doesn’t step away. “I have  _family_ here! Doesn’t that tip the scales in Earth’s favor?”

“What about your team then, huh?” Pidge retorts, growing angry again, her blood rushing past her ears and nearly drowning out the sound of the waves washing on shore. “What about  _me_?”

“You don’t need—”

“Yes, we do! Voltron needs its Red Paladin, the team needs their friend, and I—” Pidge cuts herself off, her eyes wide, but there’s no hedging when he needs to hear what she has to say. “ _I_  need you, Lance.” She takes his hand, interlacing their fingers and glaring at him until he meets her eyes again, his lips parted in surprise. “Come with me,  _please_.”

She’s well-aware that at this point she’s nearly begging him, her anger fading fast out of desperation. The universe hasn’t needed them to form Voltron itself in a deca-phoeb, but that doesn’t mean it never will again. And she knows her friends -  _all_  of them, including Allura - miss him and want him to return and complete the circle, although it remains unspoken, everyone talking around his absence as if he’s only away on an extended mission.

“Besides, Hunk and Keith both suck at video games,” Pidge complains with a sniffle.

Her breath catches in her lungs when Lance’s free hand cups her face, his thumb smoothing over her cheek and brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized she shed.

“And for quiznak’s sake,” Pidge grumbles, “quit making me cry.”

“I wish I hadn’t,” Lance says, unleashing a sniff of his own. He rubs his face with their joined hands before tugging her towards him.

Pidge falls against his chest, sighing as his arms wrap tightly around her and hold her close. She clutches at the back of his shirt, pinching her eyes shut as another tear pushes past her eyelids, searching for some comfort in his warmth and his strength.

Strength that seems to falter.

“N-no matter what you decide,” Pidge tells him, unable to keep the quaver from her voice, “I-I’m leaving t-tomorrow. W-we can’t - and  _I_ can’t - wait for you forever, Lance.”

Even speaking the words pulls a sob from her, and she pushes herself closer to him, muffling the next one in his shirt.

His grip on her tightens, his fingers digging into her sides with almost enough force to bruise. He buries his face in her hair and mutters, “But y-you’ll come back again, w-won’t you?”

She pulls away, tilting her head back and reaching up to cup his jaw. “O-of course I will,” she promises with a tremulous smile.

But they both know it won’t be the same.

Green has to remind her to give him the drawing of the sunset, but this time when she fights her way through the sand, the effort of every step that leaves him further behind costs her more than the energy she burns on the endless walk.

(Lance stares at the drawing in the moonlight, memorizing every detail of the childish illustration long after the Green Lion disappears over the horizon.)

* * *

 

Her communicator lies innocently on her chair inside the Green Lion’s cockpit, but Pidge still has the impression it’s mocking her.

It’s what she deserves for letting him borrow it years ago and snap all those pictures with it.

Her fingers twitch, and she snatches it up before she can think too much about it, scrolling through her contacts before she finds his name. Her thumb hovers over it, poised to touch and call and wait and—

And what?

Pidge sighs, her heart heavy as she slides the communicator into the back pocket of her jeans. When Green rumbles with disapproval - although she doesn’t let on to what, exactly, she’s disapproving - Pidge rolls her eyes.

The console flashes, the view port erupting with life and displaying the wide hangar inside the  _Atlas_.

No, wait…

Some unspoken reflex makes Pidge close her eyes.

When she opens them again, she’s staring into a hangar, but it’s not the one that’s grown familiar to her. It’s another, the first, one she made a home before its loss hit her with all the force of an emotional bomb blast.

“What…?”

The perspective, on the other hand, is unfamiliar.

Pidge stares down from a high place, watching a scene unfold below her. A girl with untidy hair and glasses - she recognizes herself in an instant - crouches over a desk, typing away at a computer and pausing every few ticks to grumble under her breath.

She drops her forehead to the desk and groans, “Why isn’t this stupid code  _working_?”

“Guess these are just what the doctor - or chef, I guess - ordered, huh?” a new voice pipes in before its owner steps into view.

The voice alone is enough to force a strangled gasp from Pidge the voyeur, her palms sweaty and the way his voice hits her ears and echoes through her head weighing her down and nearly tearing her from the vision.

But she stays, though she can’t tell if it’s Green’s efforts or her own strength of will that holds her there.

“What do you want, Lance?” the girl at the desk asks tiredly without looking up. “I’m busy.”

“Too busy for  _these_?” He approaches and waves a dish in her face.

The girl perks up immediately, her eyes wide behind her glasses and a grin stretching across her face. But it falters almost immediately, her gaze sharp on the plate and a skeptical tilt to her eyebrows. “Where did you get those?” she wonders.

“Hunk made them, obviously.” He shrugs and slides the plate onto the desk - shoving a few cluttering objects aside in the process. “And if you like them, then you should know I helped.”

She picks a small disk - a  _cookie_  - off the plate and inspects it. “And if I don’t like them?”

“It was all Hunk and I had nothing to do with them,” he says, raising his hands.

She grins and raises the cookie to her mouth for a bite, but her face falls as she chews. “It’s—”

“—all Hunk’s fault,” he’s quick to say, already reaching for the plate.

“No, wait.” She steps between him and the plate of cookies, a tremulous smile on her face. “They’re not perfect, but they’re close.”

“Then why do you look so upset?” he wonders, frowning.

“Because my mother used to make these,” she says, but then she laughs, an almost melancholy sound, and adds, “Well, she always got prepackaged cookie dough actually; she’d never bake sweets from scratch if she could help it.”

“So in a way…these are better than your mom’s?” he asks hopefully. When she snorts, annoyance flitting across her face, he chuckles and backtracks, “Kidding, obviously.”

“Good, and…” She trails off and reaches for another cookie before gesturing for him to take one too.

He grins and accepts while she watches, her feet shifting restlessly and frowning.

“Lance, I…” She pinches her eyes shut, and when he looks at her, smiling and curious, she says, “Thank you for…coming back for me during the mission a few quintants ago. I know I told you to leave me, but I’m—”

“Anytime,” he interrupts brightly, his smile turning impossibly soft. “I’d never leave you, Pidge.”

She - Pidge the girl who doesn’t know what she has - returns his grin with one of her own. “I’ll hold you to that.”

He flushes when their gazes hold a touch too long, averting his eyes and clearing his throat. “Anyway, what’re you working on? Maybe I can give you a hand.”

“Because you know  _so much_  about quantum computing…”

Their voices fade when Pidge, the voyeur to her own memory, closes her eyes, but  _his_  promise still tickles her mind.

_I_ _’d never leave you, Pidge._

Pidge wonders for the first time if she should’ve promised the same. Does it make  _her_  a hypocrite, leaving him on Earth?

Would she feel tugged back to space - to the exploration and excitement and adventure that outweighed the horrors - if she’d stayed?

When Pidge opens her eyes to the Green Lion’s cockpit, she leans against the back of the pilot’s chair and slides down until she sits on the floor. She wraps her arms around her legs and rests her forehead on her knees.

“I’m a hypocrite,” she tells Green. “I’m a quiznaking  _hypocrite_.”

_No_ _…_

Green’s reassurance is more impression than words, of a mission in mind, of a beast that knows exactly where to seek its next meal and build its nest, of a plant that only needs and  _desires_  growth.

Everything fits into its place, every organism without sentience knowing exactly what its purpose is without being taught or agonizing over it. And if one leaves, the whole delicate balance it propped up in the system crumbles.

Lance didn’t just leave Pidge, or even the team; he left his place within the universe, his niche, the space intended for him and him alone to fill. It’s why the Red Lion hasn’t chosen a new Paladin, even when they’d finally and tentatively broached the subject amongst themselves.

Pidge sighs and forces herself to her feet, despite her limbs wanting to drag her back down. Emotional exhaustion makes her head hurt, and she says, “I think I need a nap.”

Her footsteps echo throughout the  _Atlas_ ’ cavernous Lion hangar, traversing it on her way to Paladin quarters. Where the Castle had individual hangars for each Lion, the  _Atlas_  has one giant hangar for multiple ships with a single pair of bay doors per Lion.

Pidge isn’t sure if she cares for the design yet…although she didn’t mind it so much before, when her path between Green Lion and the rest of the ship didn’t overlap with the Red Lion.

Disappointment sinks into her belly when she passes him and takes in his dark eyes. Every time she spots them, despite how long it’s been since she saw them alight, that heart-wrenching  _disappointment_  never fails to grip her.

Maybe one day it won’t hold on so tight.

Pidge decides she’s a masochist as she holds Red’s unseeing gaze, pretending that her chest doesn’t ache and hope doesn’t curdle. She lost count of the number of times she desperately hoped she would come to the hangar and find Red missing, halfway to Earth and seeking his Paladin.

“Are you as tired of waiting as I am?” Pidge wonders. “Are you as… _stubborn_  about it too?” But then she laughs, remembering, and says, “I forgot that you waited ten thousand years for a new Paladin, so what’s this doing to you?”

Yellow light flashes, and the ground vibrates with a low rumble.

Pidge’s eyes widen, her heart pounding wildly as life enters the Red Lion’s eyes, their light bursting an intense white before fading to yellow. He crouches, expectant, but she’s already sprinting for the intercom in the far wall, leaning all her weight against the button to the bridge as she presses it. “Shiro, Coran, whoever’s there, open Red’s bay doors!”

“Pidge?” Shiro replies immediately, voice laced with alarm. “What’s wrong? Did something—”

“Open bay now, ask questions later!”

She sags, some of the frenzy draining from her as an alarm blares. But she finds the strength to dash to the nearest hangar exit, pushing through the door and sliding it shut to peer through the reinforced glass window.

Red is nowhere in sight, the bay doors already closing and concealing the blackness of space from view.

A wide smile splits Pidge’s face as she turns towards the sound of rushing footsteps, her heart light for the first time in what feels like years.

What probably  _is_  years.

“Pidge!” someone calls, and she glances up to see Shiro and Keith approaching. “What happened? Who’s flying the Red Lion?”

Some of their wide-eyed worry fades when Pidge laughs, relief and joy and excitement at the promise of  _soon_ , of the wait ending, filling her. “Who do you think?”

They exchange startled, disbelieving glances before a grin bursts onto Shiro’s face, a smaller smile on Keith’s. “Finally,” he says.

“Lance is coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i probably should've posted this separately since it's rather long but OH WELL


	84. like a masochistic moth to dragonflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not really for a prompt but it's plance, piklavar-style
> 
> Monsters & Mana universe, mostly fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/177969045423/like-a-masochistic-moth-to-dragonflame)

Pike is smitten the moment he sees her, and it only grows worse when the words  _family heirloom_  cross her lips. He’s always been fond of pinching objects with a certain sentimental value attached, even if pawning them off sometimes proves sticky.

(He refuses to think about the cursed necklace that gave him two left feet for a week.)

Of course, convincing her his motives aren’t as nefarious as they seem is a little more…difficult.

“Why would I want to travel with a thief?” Meklavar asks, her eyebrows drawn together.

“ _Ninja assassin_ ,” Pike corrects on reflex.

They’re only a few leagues beyond the vanquished dragon’s lair, and from the way her eyes droop and the sweat beads down her forehead, she’s in need of a good night’s sleep.

But there are no inns this deep in the forest so close to a dragon’s hideout - although he’s promised he knows of one.

With her so exhausted, her guard likely lowers, and Pike can afford to ask a few pertinent questions. “So this Jewel of Jitan,” he says, flinging an arm around her shoulders as they trudge through the trees, the rest of their party dragging a few paces behind them. “What is it?”

Meklavar shoots him a look from the corner of her eye, a cute little pout on her lips. “I’m not telling you that.”

“Come on, Meklavar,” Pike needles, leaning ever so slightly against her. “Sate my curiosity.”

“So you can steal it first?” She rolls her eyes and shoves him off her, but not before Pike catches a hint of color in her pale cheeks. “I don’t think I will.”

“Just from a description?” Pike scoffs, his pace not faltering. It’s not difficult keeping up with her short stride, but she walks so briskly that he barely notices any difference between their paces. Perhaps this dwarf is used to walking beside someone taller than she…

“You could find it first,” Meklavar points out pragmatically.

And that’s when Pike has one of his more brilliant ideas.

“I can help  _you_  find it,” he says.

It takes a few steps for Pike to realize Meklavar isn’t keeping pace anymore, and when he turns, she’s several steps behind him, her eyes wide. “What?” he prompts, resting his hands on his hips and raising an eyebrow at her.

“Didn’t you hear  _anything_  I said?” she demands.

“About…?”

“I’m not traveling with a  _thief_ ,” Meklavar says incredulously.

“A  _ninja assassin_ ,” Pike insists, sighing in exasperation. “I didn’t think you had such a poor memory, Meklavar.”

“I don’t—ugh, never mind,” she growls, smacking a hand to her forehead. “Why would I want to travel with someone that would sooner steal my family heirloom than help me recover it?”

“Hmm…” Pike taps his chin, pretending to consider her question more than he already has. “Perhaps because it was stolen and I - a  _thief_ , as you keep accusing me of being - know the circles that other thieves walk in?” He flashes her a smirk. “And maybe, just  _maybe_ ”—he bridges the distance between them, stepping so close she has to crane her neck back to look him in the eye—”I know where to start looking?”

When Meklavar blinks at him, her lips parting slightly in surprise, Pike realizes he’s made a grave mistake.

This close, he can pick out every last sliver of brown in her eyes and watch the shadows cast by her lashes, track the strands of hair falling out from under her helmet and resting against her forehead and cheeks, see every minute shift in her face while his heart pounds away and—

A stick cracks under someone’s foot, explosive in the tense silence, and Meklavar stumbles backwards away from Pike right as Block, Jiro, and Valyun emerge from the trees.

“…kill for a shepherd’s pie…” Block trails off as his eyes land on them, his jaw dropping.

Pike’s face warms, his spine tense and prepared to defend himself if someone accuses him of…something, but Meklavar already walks past him, her shoulder clocking his arm. She asks, “Do you know where to  _start looking_  for an inn with Block’s shepherd’s pie and a comfortable bed?”

He shakes his head as if that’ll dislodge the fog that settled in the instant he dared to stand so close to her and says, “You need only ask.”

* * *

 

The Dragon’s Shadow Inn - ominously named because it dares to lie so close to the lair of the Coranic Dragon - delivers on everything Pike promised it would.

It’s a short, squat building hidden in the trees, looking like little more than a hut made of tightly woven branches, but the warmth within contrasts with the evening chill outside, and Meklavar eagerly removes her helmet. She shakes her hair out, combing her fingers through it to rid herself of some of the sweatiness.

Eyes on her make her skin prickle, and when she glances sideways she meets Pike’s gaze. He clears his throat and turns away, crossing his arms and staring at the floor.

“What?” she says, scowling at him.

“I just thought…maybe you had ears like mine,” he mumbles.

Meklavar has the distinct impression he’s lying, so she retorts, “You knew that I’m a dwarf.”

Pike scratches the base of one of his furred ears and looks at the roaring fire in the hearth just behind her. “Did I?”

“Yes. You asked me that moments after we met.” She frowns, growing worried, and adds, “It was after I called you a thief.”

“Which I’m  _not_ ,” Pike says with a petulant pout, and if not for her irritation at his continued denial she might’ve thought it cute.

 _Wait_ —

The innkeeper emerges from a back room before Meklavar can ponder that thought too much, a wide smile on his bearded -  _thank the ancients it_ _’s not a mustache_  - face. He gestures them towards one of the only two tables - both as long as the room with benches on either side - in the common room before disappearing through another door.

“That smells good,” Block says, a wistful smile overtaking his face.

Meklavar sets her helmet on the table and, somehow, ends up sitting across from Pike. He grins at her as the innkeeper returns with a tray, serving them a shepherd’s pie loaded with mutton and potatoes and a tureen of pea soup.

Block shovels shepherd’s pie onto his plate and says, “This is the first time since my village was cursed that my stomach feels settled.”

“By all means,” Jiro says, rolling his eyes at Meklavar, “eat your fill.”

“Gladly.”

When Block finally gives the rest of them a turn - he’s kind enough to fill bowls with soup for them before digging into his own plate - Meklavar eagerly spoons for herself a serving of shepherd’s pie. But before she can taste it, Pike waves his plate at her. “What?”

“Just making sure you don’t see me stealing any of your meal,” he says.

Meklavar sighs but fills his plate. “We’re splitting the cost,” she tells him.

“Are we?” Pike says.

“We’d  _better_ ,” she says, her eyes narrowing as she watches him take his first bite.

“Well, like a thief - or perhaps  _thieves_  - disappears into the night…” He waggles his eyebrows at her suggestively.

Meklavar kicks him under the table, blessed that he has long legs and she doesn’t have to stretch too far to reach them. When her boot connects with his shin, he jumps, knocking over his mug of apple cider.

The cider spills onto the floor and soaks into the wood, but Pike stares at her. “Really, Meklavar?” He rolls his eyes. “It was a joke.”

“Uh…” Block freezes with a spoon loaded with potatoes halfway to his mouth, and even Jiro and Valyun eye the brewing confrontation warily. “What happened?”

“So you confess you’re a thief,” Meklavar says, standing and slamming her hands on the table.

“You seemed convinced without me saying so,” Pike fires back with a scowl, his ears twitching furiously.

It’s the least  _smarmy_  she’s seen him since they met, and his obvious irritation - candid words or not - takes her aback. But she recovers quickly and says, “Your skills speak for themselves.”

“My  _skills_?” Pike stands, leaning across the table towards her. “The same ones that  _you_  benefited from while we fought Dakin and the Dragon?”

“ _Unsavory_  ones,” Meklavar bites, glowering. Her shoulders are tense, hands curling into fists on the table, and the room around them is achingly silent. “Who knows what you’ve used them for  _before_  our  _fateful_  meeting?”

“You don’t know anything about me,” Pike retorts.

“I know enough to know I don’t want you anywhere near me while I’m searching for the Jewel!”

Before Pike can do much more than glare, Jiro raises a hand and says, “All right, I think that’s enough. Why don’t we finish our meal and go to bed? It’s been a…long day.”

“You were only there for the end of it,” Pike mutters, sitting back down with his arms crossed while glaring at some point over Meklavar’s head.

Meklavar follows suit, gripping her spoon so tightly she’d be worried it would snap if she cared that instant.

She finishes the rest of her meal quickly - her appetite is only slightly diminished by her quarrel with Pike - with the promise of a good night’s sleep and a continuation of her quest in the morning.  _And_  time away from Pike.

No, she doesn’t want to be anywhere  _near_  his piercing eyes or that scowl she wishes would soften into a smile or those ever so slightly flattened ears that make something unpleasant and  _guilty_  twist in her gut.

* * *

 

“This is obviously not…ideal,” Pike says as they peer into the room offered to them by the innkeeper.

“Obviously,” Meklavar agrees with a glower. She shoots him a fleeting glance and wonders, “Do you think Jiro would switch with you if we begged?”

Pike frowns, unimpressed with her inquiry, and says, “He just lost his twin brother, so let him mourn in peace.”

“What about Valyun switching with  _me_?” Meklavar poses. She scowls. “I’m sure you’d much rather sleep in the same room as her.”

Her tone surprises him, and he can’t help quirking an eyebrow at her. “Just because of a little fight between friends?”

“We’re not friends,” Meklavar tells him. “We’re barely comrades since we’re parting ways soon.” But she trudges over the threshold into the room, perching on the edge of the bed to tug off her boots.

It’s the  _only_  bed, and not a very wide one at that.

Pike’s hair prickles uncomfortably, his mouth dry at the prospect. He follows Meklavar inside, making a quick circuit of the room, but it’s so small - he can probably stand at the center, where the bed is, and touch the opposite walls just by extending his arms - that there’s barely enough floorspace to stand comfortably, much less sleep.

“What about Block?” Meklavar says, tugging Pike from his thoughts. “You seem to get on with him better than you do with me.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Pike retorts, turning to face her with his hands on his hips. “ _You_ _’re_  the one always accusing me of something I haven’t even done yet!”

For a fleeting second, Meklavar’s gaze drifts down, but her chagrin vanishes instantly. “Our entire journey here you talked about all the treasures you either stole or  _planned_  to steal.”

“Mostly from the Dragon.” Pike smirks - he won’t tell her that most of his stories stretched the truth  _just_  a bit - and leans against the wall beside the door, his feet touching the bed frame without much effort. “And Block is too big to share that small of a bed with. I’d fall off.”

Meklavar glances between him to the bed she sits on. A sigh escapes her as she says, “Then I suppose you can’t be convinced to sleep on the floor.”

“I thought dwarfs were more chivalrous than that,” Pike scolds.

Meklavar flushes - it’s obvious even in the room’s candlelit darkness - and grumbles, “I’d rather sleep on the floor than beside—”

“A thief,” Pike says, rolling his eyes and trying not to let on that hearing her call him that yet again hurt, “I know.”

“—you.” Meklavar presses her lips together. “I meant to say  _you_.”

“Because that’s so much better.”

“It is,” Meklavar says. She sets her boots aside and stands, reaching to unclasp pieces of her armor. “It means I’m starting to dislike you on your own merits rather than just because you’re a thief.”

“I’m honored, Meklavar,” Pike deadpans. But he lets the insult stand in favor of taking off his tattered cloak. “If it’s all the same, you won’t sleep well on the floor, and who knows how often you’ll be able to sleep in an actual bed while on your quest?”

Meklavar’s hands, hovering over the clasp holding her shoulder plate in place, freeze, though she doesn’t look at him. “Why do you care?”

“I’ve lost a few things in my time,” Pike muses, examining his fingernails. He turns his back to her - affording her some small amount of privacy, although a not-so-secret part of him wouldn’t mind watching her undress - and adds in as indifferent a voice as he can manage, “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

The silence in the room that descends is suffocating. For a heartbeat Pike thinks his words slew Meklavar - it would be another weapon to add to his arsenal as a ninja assassin - but then a soft touch to his arm alerts her to his presence.

It still startles a gasp from him and forces him to turn to face her.

She frowns and stares at the tiny floorspace between their feet, her hair sticking to her forehead in an unflattering way. Pike has to grab his wrist lest he reach up to push it away, has to curb the impulse to step closer while his heart beats almost  _encouragingly_.

“I’m…sorry,” Meklavar visibly grits out, her gaze briefly flitting up to meet his. “I shouldn’t judge you so harshly, especially since you  _did_  help us defeat the Dragon - even if I still think it was for your own gain—”

“You’re great at apologizing, you know that?”

“—but…the Jewel was already stolen once and I don’t want to risk it again.”

Well, at least she has the grace to sound regretful, Pike thinks as his heart sinks.

(He won’t tell her she is -  _was_  - right to be suspicious.)

“But my offer—”

“Just because I’m sleeping in the same room as you doesn’t mean I’ve agreed to it,” Meklavar says.

Pike crosses his arms. “So you accept that fate?”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” she says, flashing him a smile so fleeting he thinks he imagined it. “You’re pretty warm.”

* * *

 

Meklavar resents Pike for how quickly he falls asleep.

He sleeps on his back - another reason to dislike him - with the blankets tugged up to his chin, his chest rising and falling steadily with every deep breath.

At least he doesn’t snore.

Meklavar turns onto her side, her back to him, and closes her eyes, attempting yet again to quiet her tumultuous thoughts and  _fall asleep_. But Pike’s offer of helping her search for her family heirloom ring through her head, and she can’t help going over his words again and again, hunting for any trace of insincerity they might’ve held.

(Damn that distracting smirk that makes her palms sweat and her heart pound.)

And then there’s the implication behind  _I_ _’ve lost a few things in my time_.

Meklavar hates being curious about people. Curiosity is one step removed from interest, and when her interest is piqued it’s only a little while before she wants - no,  _needs_  - to know every last fact she can about something…or someone.

She tucks a hand under her pillow, searching for a more comfortable position and leaning as far from Pike as she can possibly get without falling out of bed. But his warm presence at her back entices her, and lying on her left side isn’t as cozy as usual.

Like a masochistic moth to dragonflame, Meklavar rolls over.

Her breath catches in her throat as she scans his face, half-dreading that he’ll crack his eyelids open and see her. But he sleeps and dreams away, moonlight streaming in through a crack in the curtain falling on his face and illuminating a slight and soft smile.

Some of the tension in her spine unravels, and Meklavar gives in to temptation and lies as close to Pike as she dares. She can more easily sense him wake and skip out on them without paying his share to the innkeeper if she sleeps close to him.

(Or that’s the lie she tells herself.)

She holds her hands to her chest and closes her eyes, and a heartbeat later she dreams of a warm and fertile valley bursting with restored life, the Jewel of Jitan safely returned home.

* * *

 

Pike wakes with the realization that, sometime in the night, he rolled onto his stomach.

Worse, he buried his face in Meklavar’s soft brown hair and slung an arm around her waist.

But he’s not in a hurry to pull away, not when the fog of sleep still blankets his mind and the last threads of an interrupted dream linger. He sighs and pulls Meklavar closer - it’s probably safer than removing his arm if he wishes not to wake her - before pinching his eyes shut again.

The sunlight pouring through the thin curtains has other plans.

The first sign that Meklavar is joining Pike in the land of the waking is a soft groan that sends a spike of something primal through his blood. He stiffens, his hold on her freezing, and slowly pulls his face away.

He knows it’s a bad idea the instant she blinks at him with eyes heavy with sleep, a confused frown on her face.

“…Pike?”

He grins at her, still reluctant to move - maybe she hasn’t noticed his arm’s placement? - and says, “Good morning. Sleep well?”

Meklavar rolls onto her back - Pike finally and more reluctantly than he thought possible withdraws his arm - and rubs her eyes. “Surprisingly, I did.”

Pike props himself up on an elbow and peers down at her. When her gaze, more alert than before, snaps to his, he says, “All rested for a new quest?”

She pushes the blankets off and sits up, winding a few strands of her sleep-mussed hair around a finger. “I’m…hopeful.”

The smile she sends him makes warmth spread through his chest.

Pike returns it as he sits up and runs his fingers through his hair. “So what do you say about my offer to help?” he wonders.

Meklavar bites her lip with an odd glint in her brown eyes. “I say it’s worth the risk.”

Pike throws an arm around her shoulders, heedless of the startled squeak he draws from her, and promises, “You won’t regret it.”

“Help me take the Jewel of Jitan home,” Meklavar says, laughing. “ _Then_  we’ll talk about regrets.”


	85. Fair Attraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the dialogue prompt: "Why should we date?" / "Because we're attracted to each other." / "I'm attracted to pie but do not feel the need to date pie."
> 
> Also a loose followup to ['like a masochistic moth to dragonflame'](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/177969045423/like-a-masochistic-moth-to-dragonflame)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178136255888/i-dont-know-which-one-i-would-want-more-but-the)

“I still don’t get why my character keeps ending up in compromising situations with Lance’s,” Pidge complains from the other side of the table. She rests her elbows on it, leaning forward slightly to watch their game pieces move, but her frown deepens with every tick Coran twirls the end of his bushy ginger mustache.

“Well, the two of you - or your characters - have such…what was the word, Number Two?” Coran glances at Hunk, tone beseeching.

“Chemistry,” Hunk supplies with a smile.

“Right! But what does the science of matter and bonding have to do with the connection between and compatibility of two people?”

Lance rolls his eyes at Pidge as Hunk tries to explain the finer points of English metaphors, but she refuses to look his way, her eyes instead glazing over as they examine the layout of their current game of Monsters and Mana. “Really?” he says, raising an eyebrow at her. “You’re  _that_  disappointed that I  _persuaded_  you to let me tag along?”

“It’s not that,” Pidge says, dropping her forehead onto the table and burying her fingers in her hair - and she has the audacity to accuse  _Lance_  of being dramatic! “It’s that your character is  _literally_  a thief—”

“Ninja assassin, Pidge,” he retorts, shooting her a glare.

“—and my character is searching for a priceless artifact.”

“I rolled that sixteen fair and square!”

“Right, which just meant it took you a bit of work before I folded.” Pidge groans and lifts her head enough to narrow her eyes at Coran. “Sharing a bed was completely unnecessary though.”

“It’s not like we did it for real,” Lance points out, although his face still warms at the thought. Why does the idea of their  _characters_  literally sleeping together make his heart pound?

“But it made Meklavar soften!” Pidge throws up her hands. “It’s like once a  _ninja assassin_  doesn’t stab you in your sleep, it’s enough to trust him not to steal your family’s salvation.”

“Oh, so  _that_ _’s_  what the Jewel of Jitan is?” Lance smirks and leans on the table, chin propped on his elbow. “Selling it to make a living? Or is it something  _magic_?”

“It’s a force of nature,” Pidge explains. “It’s supposed to bring fertility back to the valley from which it was stolen, and don’t you  _dare_  use that to your advantage since Pike hasn’t come by that knowledge fairly.”

It takes Lance a long moment to process her words, but when he does he shrugs and says, “I can win this without cheating.”

“It’s not the sort of game you  _win_ , Lance,” she argues. She sighs, absentmindedly rubbing a stain off the table. “And if someone  _could_  win, it would probably be our esteemed Lore Master  _Coran_.”

Lance peers at Coran from the corner of his eye right as he rubs his hands together and says, “All right, what’s next for our brave adventurers?”

He slouches in his seat, far enough that his toes brush Pidge’s feet under the table. She flinches away, making Lance’s heart drop, and turns towards Coran.

“That depends,” she says. “What have you got?”

* * *

 

“I don’t like this new story Coran has us playing,” Pidge confides in Lance later. Her computer sits in her lap, her fingers flying across the keyboard…although, as agitated as she looks, he suspects she’s not typing anything useful.

“Why not?” Lance wonders. He props his arm on the back of the couch behind her, his feet stretching across the floor. “It was fun, right? Pike got to show off his ninja assassin skills and rescue Meklavar from a warlock.”

Pidge’s hands still as she wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, a warlock whose attention  _Pike_  caught thanks to being awfully  _loud_  for a so-called ‘ninja assassin’.”

(Lance can hear the air quotes even if he can’t see them.)

He sighs and nudges her in the arm. “There’s really no pleasing you, huh?” He sinks lower, his chest tight.  _It_ _’s just a dumb game,_ he tells himself.

But Pidge’s opinion means  _everything_.

“All right, fine.” Pidge shuts her computer and sets it aside, pulling her feet onto the couch and crossing her legs while turning to face him. “It was very heroic of Pike to rescue Meklavar.”

“So heroic that she felt the need to plant one on him?” Lance raises an eyebrow at her, a grin tugging at his lips. He’s also pretty sure his face is red as an image of Pidge kissing him - no, wait, of her  _character_  kissing his  _character_  - pops into his head.

Pidge lowers her eyes, color entering her cheeks as she clears her throat. “She got caught up in the moment,” she says. “It was…spontaneous.”

His arm falls to his side, eyes widening at Pidge’s admission, but he can’t keep the smirk off his face. “So Meklavar  _does_  like Pike,” he teases, snickering.

“She’s attracted to him,” Pidge retorts with a glower. “There’s a  _difference_.”

“How much of one?” Lance leans towards her, his heart racing, and says, “They  _are_  traveling together.”

“But she still can’t trust Pike,” Pidge says, frowning. “He’s a thief—fine,  _ninja assassin_ ,” she corrects with an unimpressed scowl before Lance can interrupt. “He’s  _obviously_  got eyes on her family heirloom.”

“How would you know?” Lance wonders. “You peeking at my character sheet?”

“N-no!” Pidge snaps. “I just know! Y-you can’t just trust that someone with a history w-won’t steal your heart!”

“You mean family heirloom, right?”

“No! I mean, yes!” Pidge crosses her arms and glowers at the little bit of sofa between them. “I don’t know,” she mutters.

Lance has the awful, creeping feeling that he and Pidge are having two different conversations. The disconnect rankles his nerves, especially since they usually get on so well, playing video games late into the night and sharing the snacks his mother sneaks into the Garrison for him.

But there’s been some odd unspoken tension between them of late, settling in for…months now, he suspects. Silences like  _this_  one sit heavier than they used to, and Lance desperately seeks for something to say.

“You’re getting awfully worked up about a game, Pidge,” he observes, wary of her reaction.

Pidge stiffens, her hands clasped so tightly together her knuckles pale. “I’m playing a self-insert of sorts,” she tells him. “And I…think you are too.”

Lance’s jaw drops, but he snaps it shut to swallow, his throat suddenly dry. He licks his lips when she glances up, something in her gaze softening. “Pidge, do you…uh…” He leans towards her, grateful when she doesn’t pull away, when her warm breath fans over his chin. “Y-you trying to tell me something?” he wonders, keeping his voice low.

His heart threatens to fly out of his chest, his hands shaking where they rest in his lap, but Pidge’s eyes are steady on his when she says, “Yes.”

His eyes slip shut as he narrows the gap and presses his lips to hers. A squeak escapes her, but before Lance reacts to it, her hands fist in his shirt and tug him closer. Their noses bump before he cups her face, carefully tilting her head and moving his mouth over hers. She trembles ever so slightly against him and winds her arms around his neck.

And finally Lance puts a name to the feeling - to the  _sensation_  - that grips him every time he’s near Pidge, with every stray touch or soft glance or careless word.

They part - too soon - to catch their breath, and a wide smile breaks over Lance’s face.

“I like you,” he blurts without thinking.

“Oh, you do,” Pidge says in a bland monotone that alarms him.

“Yes, I do,” Lance insists. His thumbs stroke her pink cheeks and he says, “And I think you like me too.

“And if I do?” she wonders, a breathy sigh escaping her. “I guess it’s finally my turn to catch your eye.”

“Pidge, what are you talking about?”

“I kind of feel bad for Allura now,” she says with a strained smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “It seems like she’s actually into you now.”

“But w-we should date,” he blurts without thinking. Why is she bringing Allura up now when Pidge is the only one on his mind?

Pidge frowns. “You’ve spent all the time I’ve known you chasing other girls,” she explains. “Why would I be any different?”

“Because we’re attracted to each other,” he says - all while knowing it’s the wrong thing to say. “And I like you, and you like me!” His chest tightens when Pidge doesn’t so much as smile at him, and he asks, “That  _is_  what’s happening here, right?”

“I…yes,” Pidge says - and finally lets go, her arms falling as she leans away from him. “But I’m attracted to pie, but I don’t feel the need to date it.”

“Are you saying you’ve made out with  _pie_?” Lance demands, eyes wide. His heart still pounds against his ribs, but now for a different reason.

“Of course not.” Pidge wrings the hem of her shirt and groans. “It’s just we’re in the middle of a war, on the brink of the worst battle of our lives, and on top of that, you have feelings for someone else too.”

“I—” Lance has no real rebuttal for that, other than that he hasn’t really thought of Allura all day.

But Pidge is already on her feet and hugging her computer to her chest. “Like you said, Monsters and Mana is just a game,” she reminds him without meeting his eyes. “We can’t live our characters in real life.”

She walks away, leaving Lance wondering how he can compete with pie…and if she meant the baked good or the ratio.


	86. Mawwiage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the dialogue prompt: "I'm going to marry you someday"
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Includes very brief allurance. also mind the vague blood/injury, but otherwise prepare for tooth-rotting fluff
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178534737563/numbah-10-im-going-to-marry-you-someday)

**(1)**

The first time Lance said the words was to a girl whose name he can’t remember, but she had brown pigtails tied with green ribbons and was several fingers’ widths shorter than him. They met on the slide, and his heart jumped into his throat when she jumped from her swing and landed roughly on her hands and knees.

Red rimmed her eyes, but she laughed when he leapt after her.

Rachel officiated the ceremony with all the seriousness the eight-year-old sister of a seven-year-old boy could muster. She opened a math textbook in lieu of a Bible and quoted one of the romantic comedies Veronica watched when she thought no one was looking over her shoulder.

She pronounced them husband and wife and threw pine needles at them rather than the rose petals the flower girl threw at their second cousin’s wedding.

(Lance scowled when one got stuck up his nose.)

Lance and the girl had a two-day honeymoon where they spent an hour each day playing hide and seek and climbing the beech trees that ringed the city park. He won a ring from a coin slot machine at a nearby arcade and presented it to her (because they forgot to include that in the ceremony).

They “divorced” at the end of summer, because Lance’s family moved out of the state, and all distances felt long at that age.

* * *

 

**(2)**

The second time he spoke the words to get Jenny Shaybon’s attention. If he said them, perhaps it would enchant something into existence?

(Never mind that Hunk only smiled apologetically and Pidge’s eyes grew wide and called it ridiculous when Lance explained his logic to them.)

Maybe Jenny would kiss him under the mistletoe that an enterprising senior cadet hanged from the dorm entrance when the inspectors and instructors weren’t looking, or she would take him more seriously than the “class clown” and ask him on a date.

Or he could ask her himself, but Lance was still convinced most of the fun was in the chase.

* * *

 

**(3)**

The third time he said them to Allura, when he was too young to take it seriously but too old to think it just a joke. He fell to his knees after she collapsed, exhausted after a long, drawn-out battle, and wrapped an arm around her back to prop her up.

Her eyelids fluttered, the drop of blood trailing from the corner of her mouth making his heart stutter behind his ribs, and he said, “Stay with me, Allura. I was…”

Allura brushed his jaw with her knuckles, a sad smile on her lips, and said, “No, you weren’t.”

“W-what do you mean?” Lance demanded, his grip on her tightening. “I love you; why wouldn’t I?”

And Allura snorted weakly, her hand dropping his to point at something over his shoulder.

Pidge knelt beside him as Allura slipped into unconsciousness. She felt for a pulse along her neck -  _“Do Alteans have pulses where humans do?_ _”_  - and frowned. "She’ll be okay, Lance.” She sighed and grabbed her hand to sling her arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get her up together?”

“I-I can carry—”

“You’re hurt too, goofball,” Pidge interrupted, rolling her eyes. Her gaze drifted down to his twisted ankle, her brow furrowing in concern for him. But she smiled very slightly as her eyes returned to his face, and something in Lance’s heart stirred.

He stood slowly, an arm around Allura’s waist and his other hand clutching at her wrist while he hobbled along with Pidge towards her Lion.

* * *

**(4)**

The fourth time, Pidge’s bare feet are in Lance’s lap while she played a new “old” video game, her tongue poking out between her lips in concentration. His controller sits uselessly beside him, his character dead by the third level of the story.

He traces a fingertip along the arch of her foot.

Pidge jumps, her character on the screen falling off a cliff when her thumb slips from the joystick. Her eyes widen in horror as the deep notes indicating “Game Over” sound.

“Ticklish?” Lance comments, smirking, but before he can use this newfound knowledge to his advantage, Pidge pulls her feet from his lap, brandishing the controller at him like she would her bayard.

“No,” she says with a glare.

Lance scoots along the sofa towards her, the smirk on his lips not faltering, as Pidge inches away.

“Don’t you dare, Lance,” Pidge says. “It’s bad enough you made me die, so if you tickle me I swear to quiznak I'll—”

Lance pounces, his fingers finding Pidge’s sides while he sits on his heels over her. She shrieks with laughter, swatting at his shoulder with the controller while her free hand tries to shove his hands away.

She kicks at him, her foot finding its way to his stomach and knocking the air from him with a gasp.

“Ow,” Lance groans, falling against the back of the couch and resting a hand against his abdomen.

“Serves you right for tickling me,” Pidge grumbles once she catches her breath, although her brow furrows in a silent apology as she perches on her knees beside him. “Did I hurt you?”

“Just my ego,” Lance says with a chuckle. “Care to kiss it better?”

Pidge raises an eyebrow. “Is ‘ego’ code for something?”

“Code?” Lance squints, confused, especially as she leans towards him, her face so close her warm breath blooms over his cheek. “For what?”

“For…some part of your anatomy,” Pidge suggests, her eyes downcast in an almost coy manner…despite the teasing in her tone.

Lance’s heart pounds when their eyes meet, caught in their attractive force as heat rushes to his face. They drift together like opposite poles in a magnet, and when their lips meet his breath catches in his throat.

It’s scarcely their first kiss, but he covets them all, Pidge’s lips slotting over his the air a drowning man needs to live.

(He files that away to tell her later; she’ll call him overly dramatic but her ears will turn red.)

Her small hands cup his face, holding him in place as he buries his fingers in her hair to pull her closer. And when they part, out of breath, he rests her forehead against hers and says, “I love you.”

“I know,” she says, voice full of glee. She smirks slightly, her expression at odds with the redness of her cheeks, and kisses him lightly on the nose.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” Lance retorts, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

“I know I don’t,” Pidge says with a snort. “I know that  _I_  love you too, but I don’t know when.”

“…really?” He blinks at her in surprise, and when she nods, warmth blooms in his chest. His hands drop to her slim waist, pulling her halfway into his lap, as he says, “I think I know something else you don’t,  _Katie_.”

She bites her lip - in delight, he thinks - like she always does when he uses her real name. “What’s that, Lance?” she challenges. “Enlighten me.”

Lance laughs and wraps his arms around her so that she sits flush against him. From this close every shade of brown in her eyes stands out, every twitch of her eyelid and every hiss of anticipatory breath through her parted lips.

He longs to kiss her again, to finish this game they started, but first - and fourth - he smiles and tells her, “I’m going to marry you someday.”


	87. Great First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kiss prompts: When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More / Height Difference Kisses Where One Person Has To Bend Do Wn And The Other Is On Their Tippy Toes
> 
> Post-canon fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178676321943/ok-so-i-wanna-send-like-20-of-them-into-you-but-i)

It had been a good first date, Lance thought, but he wasn’t sure it was  _great_.

Pidge’s cheeks were pink with cold and maybe pink with something else, but he just couldn’t tell if it was for the  _right_  something else. Was she embarrassed to be seen with him or did he make her uncomfortable when he curled his pinkie finger around hers or, like he desperately hoped, did he somehow manage to  _fluster_  her?

The possibility of  _that_  filled him with warmth as he walked her to her parents’ house. She’d tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, poked him in the cheek, and teased him about being a  _gentleman_  when they didn’t part outside the carnival like she’d suggested.

_“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t at least walk you home?”_

_“A sane one, because your sister lives in the opposite direction.”_

And Lance had rolled his eyes and said it was worth it and what kind of Paladin of Voltron would he be if a longer walk prevented him from doing something  _right_?

Never mind that it was cold and Pidge wore his jacket because he’d accidentally spilled a red slushie on her that left her yellow blouse with an ugly and obvious stain.

(She’d loaned him her scarf in exchange, not because he’d  _asked_  but because he’d shivered so violently at a sudden gust of chilly wind that she laughed and took pity on him.)

But Pidge’s small, warm hand nestled over his arm and her shy, warm smile and that soft glance she kept throwing him didn’t prevent his heart from pounding so loud he thought she’d hear it.  _Quiznak_ , this one simple date to the small carnival that set up outside Plaht City had been a long time coming -  _“Finally!”_ Hunk said when Lance told him the news - and he was determined not to ruin it anymore.

“So uh…I’m sorry about your shirt,” Lance tried as they turned onto the right street. All too soon the date would come to an end, and Pidge would make up her mind about him…

_“Go on a date with me!”_

_“Why?”_

_“Because I like you? And I think you might like me too.”_

_“I don’t know, Lance…”_

_“Just one date then? Please, Pidge.”_

“It’s okay,” Pidge said, picking at the front where it stuck to her stomach. “I’m not sure I liked it much anyway; besides, it had a pretty good outcome.” Her lips curled into a smirk as her cheeks darkened.

“What outcome?” Lance wondered, turning his head to glance at her.

“Um…” Pidge laughed, leaning into him slightly, and challenged, “You get two guesses.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I demand at least three.”

“It’s not open for negotiation,” Pidge said, “ _but_  if we’re not outside my parents’ house by the time you finish your  _wrong_  guesses, I’ll give you one more.”

Lance frowned, then shrugged, deciding he had nothing to lose, and held out the hand that she wasn’t  _almost_  holding to her. “Deal.”

Pidge shook it, and Lance stuffed his hand in his pocket to preserve some of the warmth she left when she let go. “All right, what’s your first guess?”

“You say you didn’t like it…so you’re  _glad_  you’ll never be able to wear it anymore?”

Pidge snorted and shook her head.

Lance tapped his chin, cycling through a  _very_  limited list of possibilities. Maybe his imagination wasn’t as overactive as his mother liked to accuse… “You finally get to steal something of mine?” he tried, hopeful.

She grinned, her fingers squeezing his arm. “That’s pretty close, but sadly we’ve reached our destination.”

“Oh,” Lance said, his heart sinking in disappointment as Pidge tugged him along the walkway leading up to the house’s porch. It had been a quiet walk through a quiet neighborhood, only the occasional car with flashing headlights passing them.

And soon he’d bid Pidge goodnight and see her…tomorrow at the Garrison, actually, but it wouldn’t be the same, not when they spent tonight laughing and running through a terrible carnival and having more fun with her - with  _anyone_  - than he had in a long time.

Once they stood on the porch, Lance half-expected Pidge to withdraw her hand and knock on the door, but instead she faced him, her eyes on his face and some…expectation in them as her gaze drifted lower. He raised an eyebrow at her, on the brink of wondering what she thought about, when he realized what could be the perfect cap to a  _great_  first date.

Lance leaned down - why was she so  _short_? - and kissed her soft, warm cheek. “So—”

“I have to do everything myself,” Pidge grumbled, right before she surged up on her toes and kissed him on the lips.

She stumbled into him, unbalanced, and he caught her around the waist in reflex. But before he could return the pressure, before he could do much more than inhale the scent of her minty chap stick, she pulled back and whispered, “I’m sorry, are you—”

Lance cupped her face with one hand and sealed his lips over hers, heat filling him when she sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. His other arm wound firmly around her waist, holding her against him as she leaned into him with what felt like all of her diminutive weight.

He was dizzy and breathless when they finally parted, a smile pushing his lips. He rested his forehead against hers and said, “I-I guess this means you think it was a good date?”

Pidge giggled as she touched his jaw. “I thought it was a  _great_  date.”


	88. Stakeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kiss prompt: Needing to hide from bad guys kiss
> 
> Vaguely detectives AU, angst/fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178650309933/psst-17-with-plance)

“I like you better when you’re not trying so hard,” Pidge confesses during a long, uncomfortable stretch of silence. She rubs her thumb over the buckle of her seat belt, focusing on the feeling of the smooth, cool metal rather than the way her heart pounds.

She’s not sure she regrets speaking up yet, not when she refuses to assess Lance’s reaction yet. 

But why hadn’t she turned on the radio instead? Surely the catchy pop tunes he likes would’ve sufficed for a distraction.

“What makes you think I was…trying so hard?” he finally wonders, more haltingly than she hoped.

It’s like he doesn’t notice his own habits, the way he postures and struts like a lot of the young scientists that run in the same circles as her family, the ones too inexperienced to realize they don’t know everything and never will.

(The ones that she used to be one of, before her father disappeared and the reality of  _ignorance_  and the soul-crushing nature of mystery threatened to overwhelm her.)

But Pidge observes the differences, has since necessity forced them to work alone together. His earnest efforts to help her with her personal mission and his goofy sense of humor are a far cry from the braggadocio in front of their captain and the late mayor’s daughter.

She explains as much, her confidence growing the longer she speaks, while he drums his fingers against the steering wheel of their nondescript black car and huffs a laugh.

“And I guess I finally know how you feel about me, huh?” Lance flashes her a smile, something softer than the smirk she sees more often.

Pidge’s face warms as she pointedly stares out the windshield towards the poorly lit street and restaurant they’re staking out.

How funny it is that the simple act of  _waiting_  can loosen her lips so much…

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she grumbles, resting her elbow on the passenger door handle and propping her chin on her hand.

“Why not?” Lance wonders brightly. “I’ve finally seduced the great Pidge Gunderson - or, wait, it’s Holt, right? - to the Dark Side.”

Pidge’s brain lags while processing the word  _seduced_ , but she spins around to say, “You? The Dark Side?” She giggles and adds, “You’re the biggest wannabe hero I’ve ever met, goofball.”

Even in the dark she can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “I’m starting to think you mean that as a—”

Yellow light streaming from the restaurant’s opening doorway interrupted, and a beat later a broad silhouette blocks it.

“I-is that—” Pidge inhales shakily, her sweaty hands balling into fists in her lap. “Is that Sendak?”

“I can’t tell,” Lance says, squinting. “How many arms does he have?”

“I don’t—Sendak has a cybernetic arm!” she retorts, shooting him an incredulous glare.

“Yeah, but one would look obviously diff—” Lance interrupts himself, a squeak that Pidge might’ve found humorous under difference circumstances escaping him. “Holy crow, Pidge,” he mutters, his eyes wide.

“W-what?” Pidge says, tension filling her in alarm. Her blood rushes past her ears as she slowly turns her head, right as she notices the same thing Lance has.

“I-I think he spotted us.”

“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” she breathes as the big, shadowy figure stalks from the lit restaurant doorway onto the street.

(She knows Lance must be scared when he doesn’t chide her for swearing.)

“Pidge, w-what do we do?” Lance demands, taking her arm and shaking her. “If we get caught spying—I’ll start the—”

“No, don’t!” Pidge grabs his wrist before he can turn the key in the ignition and ruin  _everything_. “We need to—need to do something that won’t be suspicious.”

“Oh, because sitting in a dark car in a dingy alley isn’t—”

Pidge leans over the gear shift and presses her lips to his.

Her heart skips a beat, alarmed at her own impulsive action, and when Lance’s startled gasp hits her she almost pulls away.

 _Almost_.

Lance takes her face in his hands, tilting her head as he kisses her. Her glasses brush against his forehead, and she belatedly wishes she’d had the foresight - not that she gave herself enough time to think about it  _at all_  - to take them off first.

But he doesn’t seem to mind.

The ease with which Lance rolls with her senseless cover leaves her almost as stunned and breathless as the kiss itself, from which she can’t help wanting more.

Pidge clutches at the collar of his jacket, sighing when his fingers bury in her hair and tug her closer. She experimentally scrapes his bottom lip with her teeth, a strange but welcome heat filling her when it elicits a shiver from him.

A sharp rap on the passenger window forces them apart.

Pidge can’t quite make herself meet Lance’s eyes as she struggles to catch her breath and settles back into her seat. She licks her lips, seeking some last taste of him because now that they’ve been interrupted reality returns and she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get a chance to taste him again.

A second impatient knock coupled with Lance muttering her name pulls Pidge from her daydream, and she reluctantly rolls down the window.

From so close they can see his gleaming bionic eye, Sendak is unmistakable.

Pidge’s heart jumps into her throat, her hand going to the taser at her belt, as their mark frowns and his intact eye falls on her.

“Out after curfew?” he says. “Odd and risky place to avoid your parents finding out about your overage boyfriend, don’t you think?”

Pidge is used to slights and comments about her rather  _youthful_  appearance, but it doesn’t stop the angry heat from rushing to her face or the scowl from twisting her lips.

“I’m not her—ow,” Lance hisses when Pidge’s elbow knocks into his side.

“I-I was just…showing him around town,” Pidge lies, flashing a smile that feels more like a grimace. But with Sendak’s gaze locked onto her, it’s the best she can do.

She feels rather than sees Lance tensing beside her, knows his narrowed eyes are fixed on Sendak. She hopes his “suspicious detective” face lends itself well to him playing the part of her “protective boyfriend”.

She curses herself for letting  _that_  word stick in her mind when there are more important things to worry about.

“Not much to see here, I should think,” Sendak says. He nods behind him, towards the restaurant that’s long since shut its door and cut off the light that flooded the dark street. “Why don’t you clear on out? And I won’t call the police to escort you home for violating curfew.”

Pidge grits her teeth and neglects to tell him that Lance  _is_  “the police”.

(She’s more of a consultant, and one that illegally insinuated herself into this particular case at that.)

“We will do that,” Lance says stiffly from beside her. “Thank you for the warning, sir.”

“My pleasure.” Sendak straightens and steps away from the car.

He doesn’t move even when Lance turns the key and the engine roars into life, disturbing the quiet of the street while the headlights flash. And as he shifts the car into drive and pulls away from the curb, silence once more ruling the interior, Pidge doesn’t breathe.

It’s not until they’re stopped at a traffic light closer to the brighter, noisier, and  _safer_  town center that Pidge exhales, a heady and  _relieved_  burst of laughter escaping her.

She’s conscious of Lance watching her through a bemused gaze before he joins her until both of them are breathless with it.

“Th-that was bad,” Lance said after he caught his breath, although he still grinned so wide his blue eyes seemed to sparkle.

A warmth filled Pidge’s chest, despite the tension they’d just left behind…and that threatened to take over again. “Y-yeah, it kind of was, but we found out what we needed, right?”

“That Sendak’s been dealing with the Druids? Yeah, we did.”

The traffic light changes to green, and Lance drives through the intersection. They take an odd, circuitous route through town on their way to the precinct just to be sure they’re not being tailed, and it gives them time to…either sit in another awkward silence or  _talk_.

“Uh, Lance…” Pidge fidgets with the hem of her sweater and, pretending that she’s not blushing, says, “About what happened—”

“I wouldn’t mind kissing you again,” Lance blurts. When she turns to stare at him incredulously, his face is bright red and he avoids her eyes, waving a hand almost dismissively. “I-I mean if you want—”

“Yeah,” Pidge says, smiling when he finally meets her gaze - if briefly since he’s still driving. “I want to.”

Lance’s answering grin is so wide she wonders if his cheeks ache with the force of it, but then he raises an eyebrow and says, “You know, we could’ve just ducked instead.”


	89. Stolen Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kissing prompt: hidden/hoping not to be caught kiss
> 
> Vague AU, bit of suggestive angsty fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178689961643/40-plance)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~and i finally learn how to keep prompt fills short?~~

Lance can’t believe it took him months to find out that Pidge is a girl…and that she had to tell him herself. When he looks at or touches her now, it’s  _obvious_ , from her small hands easily engulfed by his to her smooth jaw that grows no stubble to the press of unmistakable (but clothed) breasts against his chest.

Then again, in moments like these, he’s grateful no one else - no one with the power to have her arrested for impersonating a male soldier - has caught on.

It’s a dangerous game they’re playing, where he resists the simple temptation of following her with his eyes or holds himself back when their captain sends her on the riskiest missions.

Or stealing kisses in the quietest corners of camp.

“This is a… _really_  bad idea,” Pidge mutters breathlessly. Her hands clutch at the back of his uniform shirt while he trails kisses down her jaw.

Lance freezes, his grip on her small waist loosening as he pulls back to meet her eyes. “Should I stop?”

Pidge grabs his collar and tugs him back down to her level, heat rushing to his face as her lips ghost over his and she breathes, “Not just yet.”

When Pidge kisses him, Lance’s heart pounds so fiercely against his rib cage he thinks the whole damn army can hear it, but it takes only a few seconds of soft pressure and her fingers threading through his hair for him to close his eyes and forget to worry about getting caught.


	90. Peanut Butter Smooch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kiss prompt: A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss
> 
> Post-canon, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178752053188/71-plance-please)

Pidge crossed her eyes in a poor attempt to keep the dollop of peanut butter on the tip of her nose in view, but when it failed, she refocused her gaze on the culprit standing before her.

“Lance,” she said, scowling, “why did you waste perfectly good peanut butter by  _sticking_  it to my nose?”

The guilty party shrugged, looking utterly unrepentant as he buried his spoon in the jar of peanut butter. “Thought you might find it funny,” he admitted, “but if you hate it so much, I can always lick it off. Wouldn’t be  _wasted_  that way…”

Pidge’s face warmed at the proposition, and she shoved away the temptation to take him up on it. Instead she retorted, “We spent  _years_  in space without peanut butter, and it’s now a luxury food on Earth! Why the  _quiznak_  would I want it on my face rather than  _in my stomach_  where it belongs?”

Lance stuck a spoonful of peanut butter in his mouth, humming thoughtfully until he swallowed and brandished the spoon at her. “There’s an obvious solution to this, Pidge.”

“I’m  _not_  letting you lick my nose!”

“…other than that,” Lance conceded with a sheepish smile and a red face. He handed her his spoon and the jar and said, “You finish it.”

“Now?” Pidge said incredulously even as she accepted his offering. He always insisted she share with him…

“Well, no,” he said, “because that’s probably too much for even Hunk to eat all at once.”

“Doesn’t get the peanut butter off my nose…” Pidge mumbled despite already digging into the jar.

“Yeah, fine.” Lance rolled his eyes and tore a paper towel from the roll beside the sink. He gently held her chin, tilting her head up, and wiped at the tip of her nose. “Better?”

Pidge couldn’t breathe with him standing so close, close enough that  _his_  warm breath fell on her cheek and she could see his pupils dilating as his gaze snapped onto hers. His fingers scalded her skin, and as he leaned down her eyes slipped shut.

Her heart skipped a beat when his lips touched hers, the softest pressure imparted onto them. He pulled back just enough to mutter, “I love you, Pidge.”

He didn’t give her the chance to reply or the time to miss the sensation of his kiss.


	91. Steal to Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kiss prompt: Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing 
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178811516893/75-plance-because-thats-like-36-of-the-plance)

Pidge is tearing her room apart when Lance finds her.

Well, not that there’s  _much_  tearing apart left to do, because despite only occupying her old, single dorm room at the Garrison for only a few days, she’s already succeeded in making it look like a worse disaster zone than the torn and  _broken_  world off-base.

(He pushes  _that_  painful thought from his head for the moment.)

Lance leans against the doorway, waiting for Pidge to notice him, although he resigns himself to a long wait. With her focused on rummaging through drawers and digging through clothes and throwing aside knickknacks - is that sculpture built of junk in the corner meant to be  _him_? - and miscellaneous computer parts, she won’t glance up to see him until she finds what she’s looking for.

He considers offering to help, but he barely grasped the layout of the “organized” chaos of her bedroom aboard the Castle, let alone this room he’s been to maybe three times in as many days. Besides, he enjoys this  _almost_  quiet moment spent watching her, reveling in this new warmth that fills him at the sight of her light brown eyes and untidy hair and wide smile.

Except she’s not smiling now.

“Where  _are_  they?” Pidge hisses under her breath, and her obvious agitation finally spurs him into action.

“Where are what?” Lance wonders. He steps over the threshold, mindful of where he puts his feet lest he wish he wore steel-toed boots, and approaches her.

“My glasses,” Pidge replies without looking over her shoulder at him. “I can’t find my glasses!”

Lance smirks and adjusts the round frames perched on his nose. “I thought you didn’t need them.”

“I  _don’t_ ,” Pidge says. She sighs, standing up with her gaze roving around her personal disaster zone. “It’s just that they were my brother’s, and even if I have him back now I still want to hold onto them.”

There’s a guilty twist in his stomach when her downcast face turns towards him, but Lance ignores it, knowing that his little prank will be worth it even if it earns him a sock to the gut. “Well, have you tried looking in  _my_  room?” he says idly.

Pidge crosses her arms and appraises the bedside table with both drawers pulled out. “No,” she says. “Why would I look there?” She kneels and bends down to look under the bed.

“I don’t know,” Lance says, shrugging nonchalantly and approaching her. “Could be because you fell asleep there last night…”

“Because you kept me up too late so I could get past that dungeon for you,” Pidge scoffs as she stands. “And I fell asleep  _with_  my glasses, Lance.” Her head swivels around, a scowl twisting her face, and Lance thinks it’s time.

His heart pounds as he gently takes her chin and tilts her face up, sealing his lips over hers before she can speak the question in her eyes.

Pidge gasps in surprise like she always does when he kisses her first - and it’s adorable and makes heat rush to his face but some part of him wishes she expected it. But to his relief she allows him to distract her, melting into it with her arms around his neck and her nose bumping into his and—

She pulls back, her face flushed and breath short, and her gaze zeroes in on his when he opens his eyes. “Lance,” she says, “did you  _steal_  my glasses?”

He smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck. “You fell asleep with them on so I took them off for you before you slept in a funny position and broke them?” He kisses her forehead where it’s furrowed, grinning when her brow smooths. “So I didn’t  _steal_  them, I  _saved_  them…and you didn’t realize they were gone until after you left.”

Pidge raises an eyebrow at him, but from the way her fingers play with the hair tickling his neck he can tell she’s not angry. Perhaps a little annoyed if the slight jutting out of her bottom lip - a lip Lance  _really_  wants to kiss again - is anything to go by, but he knows she’ll forgive him.

Pidge rolls her eyes and grumbles, “Fine. Thank you, Lance, for  _saving_  my glasses.”

He smirks. “You're—”

The words freeze on his tongue when Pidge carefully slides them off his face, the gesture sending a shiver up his spine, but rather than replacing them on  _hers_ , she sets them aside.

“There,” she murmurs, running her hands up his chest. “I can kiss you without distraction now.”

Lance swallows, his breath catching in his throat as he eagerly meets her halfway.


	92. to trust a thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kissing prompt: Against a wall kiss
> 
> Monsters & Mana AU (so featuring piklavar), angst with a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/178893903428/could-i-ask-for-a-53-pikelavar)
> 
> Also a followup to "[like a masochistic moth to dragonflame](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/177969045423/like-a-masochistic-moth-to-dragonflame)"

The rush of energy that fills Meklavar through a fight is slow to leave her. While the lone orc limps away, regretting challenging a dwarf, her fists clench, muscles tensing anew.

She’s itching for another enemy to fight.

Instead she finds Pike.

“Meklavar!” he says, sprinting up to her with his scarf streaming behind him. His tail twitches, the only obvious sign that he’s agitated. “What happened?” He skids to a silent stop - really, if he isn’t so  _talkative_  he might actually be a decent “ninja assassin”, whatever that means - before her, grabbing her chin without her permission and tilting her face.

Her skin burns where he touches her, and from his warm breath. “You're—”

“It’s nothing,” she reassures him, pulling herself from his grip and stepping away. Her heart pounds, and she’s not sure it’s just the thrill from a hard-won fight anymore, not when her limbs tremble and her lungs ache for air.

Pike’s eyes narrow right before he unwinds the scarf from around his neck and dabs at something on her cheek.

Oh. She forgot the orc cut her with his claws.

“Who hurt you?” Pike wonders, something hard in his gaze as he wipes the blood off her face.

Meklavar scowls. “Some orc who thought he could pick on me because I’m half his size.” She pats the pouch hanging from her belt, reassuring herself that  _it_  is still there. “And maybe because of—”

“Shh!” Pike cuts her off with a hand over her mouth, his ears swiveling around while his eyes stay on her face. “Do you  _want_ any potential thieves to hear you?”

“Thieves like you?” Meklavar retorts without much bite when Pike removes his hand. She sighs, her shoulders slumping; the energy is finally starting to leave her, weariness and a sting on her cheek and the ache of bruises replacing it.

She knows Pike’s worried when he doesn’t reply like usual -  _“I’m not a thief; I_ _’m a ninja assassin!”_ \- so she grabs his wrist, freezing his attention to her face, and says, “It’s just a cut, Pike.”

“It could get infected,” he chides her. He reaches for the canteen at his belt, upending it on his scarf, and wipes her cheek with the newly soaked fabric. “You never know what an orc has in his claws, and you’re  _still_  bleeding.”

Meklavar barely notices it anymore, not while a new energy floods her. Her spine stiffens, and it’s hard to breathe with Pike standing so close and being so… _gentle_.

Sometimes he confuses her, when he’s like this, attentive and almost tender, or when he simply doesn’t  _rob_  her of her recovered family heirloom and leave to do with it whatever it is “ninja assassins” do with stolen artifacts. She’s still wary of him - it would be foolish not to be - and sleeps with her fingers curled around the Jewel, but like most dwarfs she sleeps as deeply as a hibernating bear.

It would be a simple matter for Pike to pry her fingers apart and slide the Jewel from her grip while she slumbers, but he…doesn’t.

“You have that weird look in your eyes again,” Pike observes, his voice low.

Meklavar suppresses a shiver, worrying a lip between her teeth as he steps away from her and winds the now bloodied scarf around his upper arm. “What look?” she asks.

“That…‘thinking way too hard about something’ look,” he explains. He pokes her in the nose - her eyes cross to keep his fingertip in view - and adds, “You look like you have a  _question_ , Meklavar.” He smirks and throws an arm around her shoulders, tugging her towards the village lying in their path.

“Fine,” Meklavar says, rolling her eyes. “I’ll bite: why are you so worried about a cut?”

“Because I don’t want you to wind up with a scar on your pretty face?” Pike suggests, pointing to the one slicing through his eye. When Meklavar raises a skeptical eyebrow - although she can’t help the  _absurdly_  pleased flush that fills her at the word “pretty” - he laughs and amends, “What? Do you  _want_  us to match?”

She snorts. “I think it would take a  _little_  more than a facial scar for us to match,” she teases, reaching up to run a finger along the tip of his ear.

She doesn’t expect him to freeze, his eyes widening and his posture stiffening.

Meklavar’s eyes widen, and she withdraws her hand and steps out of the fold of his arm. “I’m sorry! I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine,” Pike says, scratching at his ear where she just touched it. She thinks he might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell with his complexion and his cheek markings. “I’m a little…sensitive there.”

Meklavar files that information away for later; one never knows what might prove useful…

* * *

Next time Meklavar’s not so lucky, not when a warlock catches her alone on a mountain trail, his lupine familiar snapping its jaws at her heels.

The wolf itself is far bigger than her, its head massive and its growl vicious. The sound sends a frightened shiver up her spine, and she realizes that this is what prey animals must feel when they hear it.

She swings her battle ax towards it, pushing it away from her. It’s enough to keep it on its toes, but it plows ahead, backing her up until her back collides with something firm and—

It’s not a tree.

“Give me the Jewel,” the warlock says as he slides a knife under her throat. His other arm wraps around her and her bulky armor, trapping her arms against her sides.

Meklavar’s eyes widen, her heart pounding, as she mentally runs through her options. But with a knife - when she swallows it scalds her skin and she  _knows_  it’s cursed - at her throat and a rabid wolf baring its fangs at her, she realizes she’s cornered.

It doesn’t stop her from taking on some bravado - something she picked up after a season traveling with Pike - and scoffing, “Or what?” She tightens her grip on her battle ax.

“Or we take it by force,” the warlock threatens.

“Why do you think I have it with me?” Meklavar wonders. She may have limited mobility, but if she drops her ax on his feet…

“You would be foolish enough to let an artifact like the Jewel of Jitan out of your sight?” the warlock says with an incredulous snort.

…she’d still have the wolf to take care of.

Meklavar scowls, hating the way sweat runs down her face and makes the handle of her battle ax slippery in her hands. “Y-you’ve been tracking me for a while,” she guesses, “so surely you’ve noticed I’m not traveling alone.”

“And?”

Meklavar bites her lip, guilt making her heart heavy at the same time she hopes Pike is  _leagues_ away, but she says, “How do you know I didn’t give it to him?”

The warlock laughs, the tone unpleasant. “Foolish dwarf,” he says, “Haxus can smell the life the Jewel brings on you.”

Meklavar winces but manages to keep it from her voice when she bluffs, “M-maybe he just smells the dirt. I  _am_  a dwarf after—”

Her breath catches in her throat when a tree branch overhead shifts.

Not a lick of a breeze, and yet…

The battle ax slips from her fingers the instant Pike springs from the tree branch and lands on the wolf. It yelps in distress, but that’s nothing to the agonized howl that escapes the warlock.

He pushes him off her, his blood already soaking into the soles of her boots, but Meklavar can’t savor the triumph when his knife scratches her neck.

She gasps, falling to the ground on hands and knees at the burn, her helmet slipping off and rolling away. Her fingers press against the wound, only to find it dry. “W-what—”

But she pushes her confusion aside, jumping to her feet and raising her fists, prepared to defend herself and Pike from warlock and wolf.

The warlock snarls at her from where he falls to his knees after a pitiful attempt to get to his feet. “Haxus!” he barks, pointing at her.

The wolf growls in acknowledgment, and Meklavar remembers Pike.

The great beast even dwarfs him, but he wraps his arms around its neck in a valiant effort to slow it down.

Her heart jumps into her throat as she watches, but before she can lurch forward to assist him, Pike embeds a blade in its side. Then his eyes land on Meklavar, widening as his gaze slips down to her neck, and a heartbeat later he lets go of the wolf and sprints towards her.

“Pike—”

His name barely falls from her tongue before his arms wrap around her and smoke engulfs them.

Her eyelids pinch shut to keep it from stinging her eyes, but it scratches at her throat. She bursts into a coughing fit, barely aware of Pike’s arms slipping under her knees and around her back before a rush of air is ruffling her sweaty hair.

“My h-helmet,” she mumbles. “My ax—”

“Not important,” Pike says. “Hold on, Meklavar; I know someone around here that can help you.”

Help  _her_? Why does  _she_  need—

“I-it’s just a cut,” she tells him once she remembers. “B-barely even hurts anymore.” She opens her eyes, blinking up at him. “I can walk too, Pike.”

“It’s faster if I carry you,” Pike says, tone firm.

It doesn’t stop Meklavar from arguing, “Pike, I'm—”

“No, you’re not!” he shouts, before grimacing and continuing in a more level voice, “Didn’t you see his knife?”

“I—” She had; it burned when it touched her skin, and when it  _cut_  it, she didn’t bleed…

She sighs, slumping in his arms - if he insists on carrying her she may as well enjoy it - and wondering, “Where are we going?”

“To visit a…friend of mine,” Pike says, gritting his teeth as if it pains him to admit as much. “He has some experience with cursed knives, so he should be able to help you.” He speaks lightly, hopefully, but Meklavar can read the concern written all over his face in a furrowed brow.

(His tail probably twitches like crazy.)

His worry for her, and the way he jumped to her defense, make warmth spread through her. “So it’s…bad,” she muses, resting two fingers against the side of her neck. “How bad?”

“I don’t know,” Pike admits, “but the…corruption’s already spreading.”

Meklavar’s heart stutters in her chest.  _Corruption_ was the exact word the elders used to describe the slow death of the valley after the Jewel of Jitan was stolen…

“Oh,” she mumbles, turning her face to bury it against Pike’s chest. “Th-then it’ll be slow, won’t it?”

“I’m so sorry, Meklavar,” Pike murmurs, pressing his chin into her hair. “I promise I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”

And despite everything - despite his  _profession_  - Meklavar believes him.

* * *

 

Pike shakes her awake what feels like seconds after she finally lets her eyes slip shut, and for a long moment she doesn’t know where she is.

None of the stone walls furnished with woven rugs that decorate her family’s home greet her, and her mother’s voice doesn’t echo down the hallway, either bidding her brother stay silent because Meklavar’s still sleeping or coming to wake her up for the day ahead.

Homesickness grips her heart and brings tears to her eyes before she can stop them, a sniff escaping her. But warm arms engulf her as soon as she sits up in this warm, soft,  _unfamiliar_  bed, and she collapses into Pike, shaking with the first sob.

“H-have I f-failed?” she wonders, her voice trembling. “I-I—w-what if I d-die before I make it  _home_?”

“You won’t,” Pike swears, his hold on her tightening until her ear rests over his steadily beating heart. “Thunder can help you, and i-it’s not even th-that bad yet.”

Meklavar freezes, pulling away from him and noting how he won’t look her in the eye. “You’re lying,” she accuses, although her sniffing offsets the effect.

Pike carefully meets her gaze before his flits away again, his ears flattening slightly. “I—”

“How bad is it?” she asks, grasping his chin and turning his face back towards her. “Pike, how bad is it?”

Pike’s fingers brush her neck, his touch light.

It’s enough to make pain dance over her skin.

Meklavar winces, recoiling from him until the pain dissipates into an itch. “What—”

“Thunder doesn’t own a mirror,” Pike says with an apologetic smile, “so you can’t  _see_  how bad it is.”

“C-can you?”

He shakes his head, his cheeks coloring as he says, “The corruption - it looks like bruising but more  _rotten_  - reaches under your collar.”

Meklavar takes a shaky breath as she lifts her collar and peeks under her shirt, and sure enough the sight of bruising greets her.

But it’s different, somehow, looking more ashy and  _old_  than fresh, and as she gingerly feels along them, she finds it stops just under her collar.

It’ll spread further before long.

But she doesn’t want to talk about that, nor about the weight of her quest still resting on her shoulders. Her eyes flit around the single small room - there’s a kitchen of sorts in one corner, and she and Pike sit on the only bed - before they come to rest on her armor piled beside the bed, her belt with the pouch carrying the Jewel of Jitan draped over her breastplate.

For once, Meklavar’s fingers don’t itch to grasp the Jewel, to make sure it’s still with her.

“Where are we?” she asks Pike.

“Thunder’s hut in the woods,” he says briefly.

“Where are they?” Meklavar says, glancing towards a closed door. “And what kind of name is  _Thunder_?”

“I think it’s a nickname,” Pike says with a grin.

“For what?” She raises an eyebrow. “Thunderstorm?”

Pike grimaces before bursting into laughter. “Yes,” he says, nodding and wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. “And he left to…well, I’m not sure actually. He probably went off to hunt or meditate or something.” He rolls his eyes but smiles at her. “He’s kind of strange.”

Meklavar grins despite herself and nudges his face away from hers. “You’re one to talk, but anyway"—she stands, wobbling on unsteady feet before recovering her balance—"we should get ready to leave. There’s still a long journey to the valley.”

“What?” Pike stares incredulously at her as she grabs her belt and wraps it around her waist. “Meklavar, you're—”

“What?” She spins around, anger filling her so suddenly she wonders if it hasn’t been thriving under the surface for a while, waiting to be unleashed. “Sick? It doesn’t matter; I have my quest and I  _have_  to complete it.”

“At least wait till Thunder comes back and checks the corruption first,” Pike protests. He stands, reaching for her shoulder, but she jerks away from him.

“So he can tell me what I already know?” she says, scathing. “No. My time is short as it is, Pike, so I can’t afford to linger. I’ve already…” She trails off, biting her lip while her heart sinks. “I’ve already dawdled too much with you.”

Pike’s face falls before his lips twist into a scowl, his hands resting on his hips. “Is that how it is? We’ve just been  _dawdling_?”

Guilt writhes in Meklavar’s stomach at the obvious hurt that crossed his face, but frustration - with him, with her situation and her  _condition_  - still rules her. “Yes,” she bites, “we have. Without you  _constantly_  diverting our attention because you just  _have_  to steal from some passing caravan or—”

“So you would’ve rather been killed by that warlock?” Pike argues, pointing at her.

“Maybe if it wasn’t for you we wouldn’t have been so easily tracked by his monster!”

“For  _me_?” Pike glowers at her, his hands curling into fists and tail thrashing behind him. “ _I’m_  a master of stealth!  _You_  wear armor that clanks with every step so a deaf  _baby_  could track you!”

“It’s for  _protection_!”

“A lot of good it did you against a warlock!”

“I dropped my ax on his foot!” Meklavar blurts, waving her arms. “I-I could’ve  _handled_  him!”

 _And then what?_ a voice inside her head wonders.  _You don’t know Thunder, don’t know anyone that can help you…and that wolf might’ve torn you to shreds first._

But there’s something else bothering her, something else besides Pike’s protectiveness - besides her own  _distracting_  feelings towards him - grabbing her attention:

The weight of the Jewel of Jitan - her family heirloom, the fate of her valley - hanging from her belt.

“Why aren’t you taking it?” Meklavar demands. She unties the pouch and holds it up, waving it and the treasure within in Pike’s face. “W-we could be done with each other, and i-it would be so  _easy_! I-I’m exhausted and weak and  _dying_  and I-I  _trust_  you!”

An odd silence fills the hut in the wake of Meklavar’s words, a silence only broken by the pounding of her heart.

Did she really just say that she  _trusted_  Pike?

His eyes shoot open - she must look just as incredulous - as they meet hers. “Maybe that’s not what I wanted to steal from you,” he says, voice low.

Meklavar’s breath catches, something in his tone  _stealing_  it from her lungs, but she clears her throat and challenges, “What?”

Pike steps towards her, bridging the gap between them, but Meklavar stands her ground. He sets his jaw, but she doesn’t fear him.

It’s  _impossible_  to fear someone who makes her heart leap.

It fights to leap through her ribs when he kisses her.

His fingers bury in her sweaty hair, pulling her face closer to his, and Meklavar squeaks in shock and discomfort when his nose connects with her eye.

Pike pulls away, letting her go with his face a livid red and holding up his hands. “I’m sorry! I just—you asked me what I wanted to steal from you and that was…one of them!”

Meklavar’s jaw drops, her own cheeks likely as red as his. When she recovers - after they stare at each other for a few painfully long seconds - she licks her lips and wonders, “W-what else did you want to steal from me?”

“Y-your heart,” Pike says, smiling almost shyly.

Meklavar thinks her heart may actually launch itself out of her body as a smile pushes at her own lips. “Y-you can have it,” she says, standing on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck, “but only if you give me yours.”

She slots her lips over his, drinking in his pleased hum as he leans into her, his arms winding around her waist and pulling her against him.

Meklavar buries her fingers in his hair as she kisses him. He shudders when her fingertips brush his ears, and she grins into his lips.

She presses in, eager, and when they part to breathe the sensation of his exhalations falling onto her forehead make her shiver. “Pike,” she murmurs, her eyes still pinched shut.

What a perfect moment…

His arms around her squeeze, his nose bumping hers when he turns his head slightly. “Hmm?”

“Kiss me again,” she says. “Spend all the time I have left kissing me.”

“Meklavar…”

She opens her eyes, narrowing them, but when she takes in his suddenly sober expression - oh, does she love to see him smile! - she cups his jaw and flashes him a reassuring grin. “W-when Thunder finds a magic cure,” Meklavar says, hoping Pike can’t hear the tremor in her voice, “w-we can still do that since, well, cats have nine lives, don’t they?”

Pike chuckles, a deep sound that reverberates through his chest and into her body. “If I did, I’d give them to you in a heartbeat.”

She smacks his cheek lightly, hating the way her chest aches. “Stop it,” she says. “You’re going to make me sad.”

“I just…” Pike rests his forehead against hers, a heavy sigh escaping him. “I’ve lost a lot of people already; I don’t want to lose you too.”

“Pike, if I die before I make it home—”

He shakes his head. “You won’t—”

“Listen, Pike,” she insists, grabbing his collar to get his attention, “I’m asking you to…to return the Jewel of Jitan to the valley.”

“Only with you,” Pike says firmly, his hand falling onto her shoulder. He mumbles an apology when she winces - neither of them realized the corruption spread so far - and he adds, “I’m not going there without you.”

“You’ll  _have_  to,” she says, a lump lodging itself in her throat. “There’s no one else I’d trust to do it on my behalf.” She bends down, reaching into the dropped pouch and plucking out the vibrant green gem that glows with its own internal light. “Pike,  _please_.”

Meklavar holds the Jewel of Jitan out to the thief she thought for so long would take it. A part of her still chafes at relinquishing guardianship of the Jewel, but the rest of her - the overwhelming part that trusts Pike with her life and with her  _heart_  - knows it’s the only way.

Pike doesn’t move, his gaze flitting from the Jewel to her face and down to her neck.

“Pike,” Meklavar says. She takes his hand and presses the Jewel into it, wrapping his fingers around it. “Take it home.”

“Meklavar,” Pike says, his eyes wide and filled with awe. Before she can ask him what he’s looking at, his hand sits on her shoulder, his thumb skimming her neck.

Meklavar bites her lip, suppressing a shiver and the urge to lean into the touch…but her eyes fly open when she realizes that it should  _not_  be so pleasant.

She stumbles away from him, tugging on her collar and peeking down her shirt.

The corruption is gone, her skin underneath pale and unblemished.

“What…?”

“The Jewel,” Pike guesses, glee making his grin wide. He tosses the Jewel into the air - if Meklavar wasn’t so stunned by this development she would smack him - and catches it before brandishing it at her. “You can have your quest back, my love.”

Meklavar stares from his face to the Jewel sitting in his hand, trying to wrap her head around what just happened…and him calling her  _my love_. “Y-you’ll stay with me?” she says.

“Nothing - not even your temper - can keep me away.”

Meklavar lets the slight pass as an overwhelming relief fills her. Instead she jumps Pike, breathless laughter escaping them both as he catches her against him and stumbles backwards, and soon her lips capture his again.

And again.

And again.

(It’s how a horrified Thunderstorm finds them, with Pike leaning against the wall while the same dwarf he carried in, unconscious and dying, kisses him senseless.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case you're wondering why i've updated this collection almost daily in the last few days...it's because i haven't posted any new fic to tumblr in a while ;_;


	93. Amateur Cosmology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the kissing prompt: A Hoarse Whisper “Kiss Me”
> 
> Vaguely "historical" AU, fluff and a bit of angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179203378633/is-68-plance-still-on-the-table)

Katie finds Lance in a hidden corner of the Castle’s grounds, somewhere between the stables and the guards’ barracks.

She comes across him by accident, intending to seclude herself nestled amid the roots of the biggest tree where her mother can’t find her and scold her for reading rather than socializing -  _“We came to the capital to see you make friends and connections, not spend all your time in the library with the books!”_ \- but Lance, of course, must disturb her peace and thwart her plans.

It doesn’t bother her as much as it once did.

Seeing him eases some of the tension in her shoulders and brings a smile to her lips…and it only widens when she realizes he has yet to see her.

He sits on the ground with his back leaning against the tree’s rough trunk, head tilted forward and chin against his chest…sound asleep.

Katie crosses her legs to sit in front of him, his feet nearly touching hers. Her book rests in her lap, and she carefully arranges her skirts around her but cares little about the dirt or grass that might stain them.

She’ll have to change in a few hours ahead of the ball anyway.

She smirks when she notices Lance is barefoot except for his stockings, and those stockings, in need of a mend, have a tear in them that leaves his big toe exposed. And she’s about to run her fingernail along that bit of exposed skin when something in his lap catches her eye:

A book lying open.

“You read for fun?” Katie blurts, her eyes wide and all desire to startle him awake forgotten.

Lance  _flails_  awake, arms spinning furiously and slamming the book shut, his head springing up so fast he smacks the back against the tree trunk. “ _Ow_ ,” he hisses, rubbing his head while Katie winces in sympathy.

“Sorry,” she says, despite the smile that still pushes at her lips. And it only grows wider when his eyes land on her face and widen.

“Lady Katie,” he says, a hint of color in his cheeks as he stumbles to his feet, the book he’d fallen asleep reading tucked under his arm. His hand braces him against the tree trunk, and he asks, “What are you doing here?”

Katie’s eyes narrow at the enforced formality, something unpleasant sitting in her gut; he never uses her title when they’re alone and usually calls her by the same silly and  _fond_  nickname her brother gave her. “I came to read where no one would find me,” she replies tartly. “Apparently I’ve already failed.”

Lance smiles sheepishly, looking a little steadier on his feet but no less embarrassed. “Sorry, Pidge,” he says, to her relief. “I didn’t think you wanted to meet today, and I had a little time to myself for once, so…”

“You chose to read?” Katie squints, trying to make out the title on the book’s leather binding.

Lance shifts it under his arm, very  _obviously_  turning it so the cover faces his body and the spine isn’t in her view. “Yes,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I do sometimes enjoy some…intellectual pursuits.”

Katie crosses her arms, skeptical. “Is it a book of stories?”

“Yes!” Lance says, too loudly and too emphatically. “And they were very  _engrossing_  stories!”

She raises an eyebrow, drumming her fingers on her thighs as he shifts his feet. “Is that why you fell asleep?”

Lance’s mouth opens with a retort, but when she only smiles at him, his jaws snap shut with a click of teeth. “You leave me speechless,” he grumbles, settling back on the ground in front of her.

Katie can’t help giggling as she teases, “It’s no small feat.” But she sighs, noting the odd…furrow on his forehead. “What’s wrong, Lance? Why won’t you let me see the book?”

“I…I’m having a hard time understanding it,” Lance confesses, grimacing. “Maybe if it was a story, I—”

Katie blinks in surprise. “What’s it about?” she wonders, leaning forward eagerly. Anticipation fills her, and she smiles at him in what she hopes is an encouraging manner. “I might be able to explain it to you, if you like.”

Lance’s eyes widen, and he nods, no longer hesitating to pass the book to her.

Katie knows the book as soon as her fingers close around it, the smooth, worn leather cover as familiar to her as her mother’s embrace. Her heart jumps into her throat, an emotion she can’t name sitting heavily in her chest.

She traces the embossed silver title with a fingertip, freezing before she gets to the writer’s name. A faded illustration of a solar eclipse decorates the cover, a single drop of water falling onto it.

She wonders if a storm penetrates the thick canopy of leaves and branches, only for a sniff to escape her.

“I—Pidge, I’m sorry,” Lance mutters. His hands close around the book, and he adds, “This is why I didn’t want to show you.”

But Katie’s grip on it tightens, and she scowls at him, wrenching it away. “I just…I-I’ll be fine,” she says, wiping a stray tear from under her eye. “W-why were you reading it?”

Lance’s arms hang oddly in the space between them, his gaze flitting back and forth from her face to the book she holds as if conflicted over something. “Pidge, are you sure you’re—”

“Yes,” she interrupts, biting her lip and not looking at him. “It’s been years, so I should be fine.”

“It’s all right if you’re—”

“I’m  _fine_ , Lance,” Katie snaps. When he recoils as if she slapped him, she adds softly, “I promise I’m fine.”

“I-if you so,” he says, frowning skeptically before he explains, “I just wanted to learn more about the stars and the sky.”

Katie pushes the remnants of her grief from her mind - but not out of her heart, never - and holds the book up, pointing to the title. “ _A Cosmologist_ _’s Guide to the Night Sky_?” she says disbelievingly. “This book is for  _experts_  in the field. It’s not just star charts and maps; it’s  _formulas_  and calculations and geometrically precise diagrams and scientific theories and methods.”

“Well, I didn’t know that when I picked it up!” Lance exclaims, throwing up his arms.

She stares at him with wide, incredulous eyes, but something like laughter - a welcome change - bubbles up from her lungs when she says, “It’s right there in the title! There are  _countless_  guidebooks for amateurs, and if I’d known you were interested, I could’ve recommended some to you, you goof.”

He blushes again, staring at the ground between them, and mutters, “I guess I’m asking now.”

Katie smiles and brandishes the book she brought with her. “You’re in luck then! I have something a little lighter and more fun with me.”

Lance glances up, an eyebrow quirked. “Are you saying your f— _A Cosmologist_ _’s Guide_  is too hard for  _you_  too?”

Katie doesn’t miss his correction, but she lets it slide over her as she joins him closer to the tree, leaning against the broad trunk beside him. She carefully sets the  _weightier_  book on a tree root - if only she brought a satchel with her as well… - and opens the other.

“It’s not too hard for me,” she explains, lovingly flipping through the thick pages rife with colorful illustrations and large, easy to read writing. “I just sometimes prefer something more…fun to distract me.”

Lance peeks onto the page she stops on. “This is a children’s book, isn’t it?” he says, his expression flat and unimpressed.

Katie nudges him with her elbow. “It is,” she says. “I grew up reading this before I could grasp more complex and scientific studies.” She ran a fingertip along the rings that traced the orbits of the planets around the sun. “For example, this book says that a planet’s orbital path is circular, but I know it’s wrong.”

“What else would it be?” Lance wonders. He smirks and suggests, “Rectangular?”

Katie snorts, half-amused and half-exasperated. “Elliptical.” When he stares blankly at her, she says, “Like an oval.” She holds up her hands and shapes her fingers into an oval. “Or a stretched out circle.”

“And what else can this book tell me about what I should’ve learned as a boy?” Lance asks sardonically.

Katie stiffens. “That’s not what I meant,” she tells him, resting her hand on his arm. “Let’s just read together until I have to return to the Castle and…prepare.” She wrinkles her nose unwittingly.

“Prepare for what?” he says. But a heartbeat later his eyes widen in realization, and he says, “Oh, the ball! You’re not looking forward to it?”

“No, I’m not,” Katie admits, fidgeting in place. “I think it’s a waste of time and I don’t care for dancing with near-strangers, especially not when my mother wants me to… _connect_  with one.”

“Connect? What’s so bad about that?”

“With a  _man_ , Lance,” she clarifies, her eyebrows drawing together while her stomach ties itself into knots. Her lips curls in distaste, already imagining all the “eligible young bachelors” who will ask her to dance. “My mother wants to betroth me to someone by the time I turn nineteen, and that’s less than a year away!”

She half-expects and half- _dreads_  Lance to tease her about it the way Matt does, to flick the hair out of her face and say that marriage isn’t so bad and she needn’t worry, any man would be lucky to have her.

But his eyes widen as they drift away from her face. “Oh,” he says, an odd cadence to that single sound. “Do you not want to get married?”

“I…” Katie sighs, her fingers gripping the book in her lap tighter while apprehension churns in her gut. “I don’t know,” she admits. “I suppose it depends.”

Lance looks up, an eyebrow raised. “On what?”

Katie bites her lip. “On the man,” she replies simply.

 _On you_ , she thinks, tucking that answer carefully into her heart where she won’t let anyone else find it.

She taps the book on her lap, and before Lance can question her further, she says, “I’m here to read.”

“Fine,” he grumbles, but he smiles when he tugs one side of the book towards him so it sits in both of their laps.

She’s careful not to lean too close to Lance, not to let her shoulder brush his. But his body is an enticing warmth, the pull of his gravity almost too much to resist…so she finds herself leaning closer until her head falls on his shoulder.

After some coaxing from her, he reads aloud, a little haltingly - it’s a mark of the limited education of his class - but she reins in her usual impatience, choosing to focus more on  _how_  he reads than on what he reads.

His voice is low, low enough it might’ve put her to sleep if he doesn’t pause every other sentence to ask her deeper questions than a children’s book can’t answer. His curiosity warms her, the way he listens to her answers and bluntly confesses to not understanding when she explains it too  _technically_.

And it’s an interesting intellectual challenge for her, finding the words to explain it in a way he’ll comprehend.

“You really think other stars have planets orbiting them too?” Lance wonders during a quiet lull. He seems drowsy again, his head lolling onto hers, but Katie can’t tell if he’s growing bored or if he’s just too comfortable like she is.

She only hums in response, her eyelids slipping shut…until she nearly falls over.

Katie catches herself on Lance’s shoulder, startling both of them wide awake. His hand springs to her waist, and he asks, “Are you all right, Pidge?”

“Yes,” she says, shaking her head to clear the last sleepy fog from it. She does  _not_  have the time to nap before the ball—

Their eyes meet, his dark in the shade of the tree’s overhanging branches.

Katie’s heart pounds almost painfully, and she can’t breathe until she tears her gaze away.

The tension eases when Lance chuckles, rubbing his face, and says, “I think we should do something else to stay awake.”

“I…should go,” Katie says instead, glancing in the direction of the Castle. “I’ll have to start preparing soon.” But she makes no move to stand.

“Why don’t you want to go?” Lance wonders. “I think it would be fun.”

“You would,” Katie grumbles. She stretches her arms over her head with a groan, slumping back against the tree…and scooting away from him. “You’re far more sociable than I am.” A silly idea overtakes her, and she asks, “Lance, you want to trade places? I’ll be the stable hand, and you wear the gown and be the noble lady!”

Lance laughs, running his fingers through his hair, but confesses, “That plan would fall apart as soon as the dancing begins.”

“Why is that?” Katie leans towards him, curious, with a grin at the image of him wearing her gown, the hem only just covering his knees. “Other than the obvious, of course.”

“I…don’t know how to dance.”

Katie blinks once, twice, three times before she processes his words. “Oh,” she says, stunned. “I didn’t—but why would I just assume that?” She rubs her face and mumbles, “Of course you don’t know how to dance…”

“Well, not like you would dance at a ball, anyway,” Lance amends, and when she looks up color fills his cheeks.

“I can teach you,” Katie offers without thought.

A heartbeat later, she hears the words that escaped her mouth, but when Lance’s eyes light up she refuses to take them back.

(And the opportunity for him to hold her absolutely does not factor into it.)

Katie shuts the book in her lap, setting it on top of the other, and shoots to her feet. She offers Lance a hand.

His, rough and warm, engulfs hers when she tugs him to his feet. When they both stand, she doesn’t let go, instead pulling him towards her.

“So…you’re going to teach me without music?” Lance says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll hum a tune,” Katie says, shrugging and unbothered by his concern. “The important thing is the steps.” She explains them quickly, about where he needs to put his feet and where she’ll put hers in relation. “Understand?”

“Good thing I’m told I’m nimble,” Lance says, laughing…although Katie can tell it has a nervous edge.

He wants to impress her, she realizes with widening eyes.

She coughs, ignoring it even as a flutter fills her chest. She guides one of his hands to her waist and leaves the other in hers and says, “It ends with a lift and a turn.”

“A  _what_?” Lance’s jaw drops, his hand on hers tightening. “You want me to  _lift_  you?”

“And turn,” Katie clarifies, nodding and grinning. “I trust you not to drop me, Lance.”

“But, Pidge, I’ve never done this before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” she says, lightly smacking his cheek. “Also, you’re leading.”

“ _What_?”

But it’s too late; Katie already hums the tune.

Lance’s foot treads on hers within seconds. A wince escapes her, and she hisses, “Lance, careful!”

“Sorry!” he says, his face turning down to watch their steps.

“You’re supposed to look up,” she chides him. She sucks in a breath when his grip on her waist tightens, when he obeys and meets her gaze.

He steps on her toes.

Katie curses in a way that would scandalize her mother, and this time, rather than apologizing, Lance complains, “This is why I was looking down!”

“Fine, look down!” she retorts.

His footwork improves after that, but their motions are still too clumsy, his dragging behind hers although he’s meant to be  _leading_.

When she mentions it, he whines, “You’re going too fast!”

“And you’re taller than almost anyone else I’ve danced with!” she says, rolling her eyes and tugging him a little closer. “We’re making do.”

But somehow along the way, between her instruction and his agility, he grasps the steps and she adjusts to his quirks. They flow from one motion to the next with little difficulty, and Lance brags about his “natural prowess”.

Katie scoffs wordlessly, careful to keep track of the rapid tune they dance to.

“How do I lift you?” Lance wonders in a low voice that sends a shiver down her spine.

“Hands on my waist,” she instructs, her tone just as low. “Then lift with your knees, pivot on your feet, and set me down.”

When it’s time for him to lift her, she taps his shoulder, and he lets go of her hand to secure both of his on her slim waist. His knees bend, her hands resting on his shoulders, and he picks her off her feet.

Katie can almost imagine the air rushing under her feet, her skirts sweeping around her legs. She grins as Lance turns, her heart pounding and breath catching in her throat, and in the heartbeats she’s in the air with him holding onto her she wonders if this is how birds feel while in flight.

He sets her down gently but his hands don’t leave her waist even when she reaches the end of the tune.

She’s breathless and dizzy for longer than she should be after a single, simple dance, and from Lance’s flushed face she knows he feels the same.

His gaze captures hers, and the air stills, not a lick of wind rustling the leaves on the trees.

“Th-this is when you would find a new partner,” Katie tells him, her voice soft as a whisper. But her grip on his shoulders tightens, daring him to leave - daring him to stay.

“What if I don’t want to?” Lance wonders, matching her tone.

“I…” It’s too much effort to string words together when her eyes drift from his intense blue eyes down to his slightly smiling mouth. “I-it would be… _rude_  to dance with me…the same partner—”

They lean in at the same time.

“ _Pidge_!”

Her heart jumps into her throat at the sound of Matt calling for her, her forehead colliding with Lance’s chin. She recoils with a groan, rubbing her forehead, while he mutters, “Why are you so dangerous to be around, Pidge?”

“It’s a talent,” she says, her mind still half-fogged as it relives what  _almost_  happened.

She wants to kill Matt.

“I-I should go,” she tells Lance, collecting both books as she avoids looking at him. The heat in her face lingers, and while she tries to make her escape she treads on the hem of her skirts.

Lance’s fingers wrap around her arm, catching her before the ground springs up to meet her and pulling her upright while the books tumble out of her hold and to the ground. His touch scalds her even through her sleeve, and she raises her eyes to his.

Katie forgets Matt, forgets that other than Lance he’s the only one that knows this hiding place and that he can clamber over the tree’s sprawling roots and intrude any instant. She forgets the ball and her dread, forgets her mother’s expectations and the future planned for her.

Katie forgets everything but what she desperately wants in this moment.

“K-kiss me,” she whispers, so quietly she barely hears her own voice.

But she hears his soft inhalation before his lips finally touch hers and hears her heartbeat in her ears.

Lance kisses her almost hesitantly, the contact feather-light but still enough.

Enough to make her head spin, enough to leave her wanting more.

He rests his forehead against hers, his hands cradling her face while her fingers tangle in his hair, and Katie tilts her head back until they kiss again, just as softly, while the warmth he shares floods her.

“M-maybe I should…gatecrash the ball,” Lance mumbles into her mouth between kisses, leaving her with little more than a taste. “Then I  _c-could_  dance every dance with you.”

“I’ll save one for you,” Katie says, a smile pushing at her lips while something  _hopeful_  and  _light_  flutters in her chest, “if you meet me here tonight.”


	94. Deadline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the trope mashup prompts: Big Damn Kiss / Poorly Timed Confession
> 
> Canon-verse, angst with a happy ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179546587098/42-and-60-for-the-mash-up)
> 
> No Paladins were killed in the making of this fic

The bomb they strapped to Lance’s back doesn’t tick. It’s eerily silent as she works to diffuse it, and she imagines its beat matches the pounding of her heart.

Colored wires slide between her sweaty fingers, and when she pushes her glasses up her nose a fingerprint smudges a lens. But she doesn’t have the time to remove them and polish it, not when her life -  _Lance’s_  life - and the lives of the refugees aboard the ship depend on her sure hands and quick mind.

Even with his fate dangling by a thread, Lance still attempts to distract her.

“Pidge,” he says, his voice low, “I need to tell you something.”

“And I already told  _you_ ,” she retorts with far less grace than a dying man deserved, “that I’m not going anywhere without you.” She fixes her gaze on the data her suit’s computer feeds her, her wrist cuff projecting a hastily mapped schematic of the bomb and its makeup and nature.

“I g-gave up on that,” Lance says with a nervous chuckle. His fingers brush her hair out of her face, making her stiffen, before he carefully removes her glasses. “I can at least clean them–”

“I-I don’t need them,” Pidge admits, refusing to let herself be surprised - refuses to indulge in the sensation of his gentle fingers on her skin - by the gesture when she has something more important to worry about. She leans close to his chest, to the device attached by the sadistic Galra warlord that took him captive.

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Lance muses, snorting, “but you’re always full of them, Pidge.” When her only reply is a noncommittal grunt, he wonders, “Why don’t you go by your real name?”

“What’s wrong with Pidge?” she can’t help wondering, her hand freezing with a wire pinched between her fingers.

Lance shrugs. “Nothing.” He scratches his ear, a hint of color filling his cheeks. “What’s wrong with Katie?”

“Nothing…” Perhaps if not for their dire straits, Pidge might’ve given him a more substantial answer, might even have thought it through first, but with every tick that passes she grows more desperate to rid him of this device.

Or to at least stall to give all the refugees the chance to evacuate.

She bites her lip, her breath catching in her throat when she realizes that she may not escape this alive either.

But she sets her jaw and decides that if Lance dies, so will she.

“Katie,” Lance says, almost thoughtfully, like he’s tasting it. He rests a hand on her cheek, and it takes all of Pidge’s willpower not to lean into his palm. “W-what happened to Commander–”

“I took care of him,” she tells him through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing. “He won’t be hurting anyone again.”

“G-good,” Lance says, his tone pitching higher.

Pidge dares a glance at his face, her chest tightening at the sight of his worried, furrowed brow. But when he catches her eye, it relaxes, and he shoots her a smile.

“You’re such a liar, Lance,” Pidge says, returning her attention to the all-important task at hand. She compares the makeshift schematic to what she comes across, bile rising in her throat at the needle on the timer sliding closer to zero.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Lance points out. “Y-you were pretending to be a boy when I met you.”

“And  _you_  were pretending to be a heartbreak,” Pidge quips, her nose wrinkling.

“N-not pretending!” he exclaims, scowling in indignation. “I broke hearts! You just never knew whose!”

“I doubt you knew whose,” she can’t help retorting bitterly.

“Name one!”

“M-mine,” she confesses in a small voice, her fingers tightening around a wire she connected to her armor’s computer.

So long as they’re about to die, might as well clear the air. She’d rather hear him bragging about his “conquest” than crying when–

“O-oh,” Lance says after a long hesitation where she can’t bring herself to look at him. “I…didn’t know, Pidge. I’m sorry.”

“I never said anything,” she points out, her words steadier than she dared hope. But it doesn’t hurt so much to mention now, not when something so much  _worse_  can soon make it all moot.

“W-well, I guess it brings me back to what I need to tell you before–”

“Lance,” Pidge cuts in testily, heedless of the heat in her cheeks when her gaze snaps up to his, “do you trust me?”

“Yeah, of–”

“Then shut up and let me  _save us_!”

Lance’s eyes widen, but he’s quick to nod.

And Pidge is quick to focus again.

Until another heartbeat - two heartbeats? She’s barely aware of her own body anymore - passes and he murmurs, “I love you, Pidge.”

She’ll kill him before this bomb does if he doesn’t shut up.

Pidge pinches her eyes shut when heat pricks at them, her heart sinking when she realizes that one of them has already given up. “Y-you’re an idiot, Lance; you know that?”

“Yeah,” Lance says, laughing. “I am…”

But his words - his  _confession_  - gives her something no snappy reassurance on her part gave him:  hope.

In the end, it’s far simpler to remove the bomb from his person without defusing it. She helps Lance hobble to his feet, her bayard at the ready in case they meet resistance, and when the ship explodes, Green is there to rescue them from the vacuum of space.

They fall to the floor in a heap, breathing heavily and laughing in relief at the huge burden lifted, death thwarted again. Her heart skips a beat when she rolls onto her side and meets his smiling blue eyes.

Pidge pushes off her helmet as Lance shoves his own away, and they only kneel before she’s grabbing his face and slotting her lips over his.

His arms encircle her waist, holding her closer, and when they part to breathe his forehead rests against hers. “Pidge…”

“Hmm?” Her chest warms, filling with a pleasant flutter she’s only ever associated with him. While she plays with the hairs on the back of his neck, she leans in so close that her lips brush his.

“Thank you for not listening to me.”

Pidge smiles against his mouth as she threads her fingers through his hair. “I’ve already left you to explode once,” she teases. “I’m never doing it again.”

Lance kisses her soundly, leaving her breathless and dizzy and glad that she’s not standing when a frantic Hunk finally calls to ask for their status.


	95. Javelin Toss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on trope mashup prompts: Royals AU / I Didn't Mean to Turn You On
> 
> "Royals" AU, suggestive fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179510301523/plance-2-86)

When Pidge arrived at the Castle of Lions to petition the king, she made it her personal mission to learn the ins and outs of the keep and its grounds. She excavated the depths of the marvelous library in search of scraps of concepts and designs that remained, she wandered the halls disguised as a pageboy to avoid the watchful eye of her beleaguered mother, and she delved into the dungeons, careful to watch her step to avoid losing herself in the maze.

(Shiro found her trying to pick her way past a locked and barricaded door, and only her pleading and an insincere promise she wouldn’t wander into the Castle’s bowels again convinced him to keep it from her mother and the king.)

She learned the shortcuts inside and out, and it was why she avoided the main and busy pathway leading from the gate to the keep’s wide entrance, instead sneaking in through the sally port during Keith’s watch and skirting the wall all the way to the training yard. From there she’d have a straight shot to the tower entrance and just one set of winding stairs between her and a bath before she changed into something more presentable ahead of her audience with the king.

But the training yard was…occupied.

A company of Castle guards milled about the yard in various states of armor and dress. An officer stood to the side, observing multiple sparring pairs, while a few other guards or trainees - perhaps even cadets judging by their lack of uniform - waited their turn at attention, spears clutched in one hand and shields held loosely at their sides.

Pidge didn’t fear crossing in the midst of a training session - doubtlessly Commander Iverson would scold her for disrupting training or warn her that a misstep could cost her an eye - but she stumbled over the hem of her skirts at the sight of a familiar figure in the adjacent shooting range.

A gasp escaped her as she fell, the ground racing up to meet her. She winced when her hands connected, a shock traveling up her arms, and despite the spinning of her head, she quickly got to her feet.

Heat rushed to her face as a guard from the shooting range approached her - the  _exact_  guard that distracted her. “Pidge!” Lance called, a javelin propped on his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Her skin crawled under the gazes of all the others putting their training on hold to stare at  _them_ , but she ignored them in favor of brushing dirt off her skirts and telling an unfortunately shirtless Lance, “I’m fine, n-no thanks to you.”

When she registered her words, her face grew impossibly warmer. She pointedly averted her wide eyes from his bare chest and its slight sheen of sweat - why did Iverson allow his guards to train  _half-naked_? - and prayed to the same deity that parted her family that Lance hadn’t noticed her slip.

“Oh, it looked like you fell for me,” he said, a hint of teasing in his tone.

Pidge dared a glance at his face, and sure enough, a smirk curled his lips…although she couldn’t bring herself to be displeased after she noticed the spots of color in his cheeks.

“You  _wish_ ,” she retorted.

Lance raised an eyebrow, hooking his arms over the javelin, its shaft against the back of his neck. “Where were you going in such a hurry, Pidge?”

“I finally have my audience with the king,” she said, “so–” Her eyes shot open, and she half-turned towards the keep, a curse slipping past her lips. “I’m late! I still haven’t taken a bath since I’m in no state to present–”

Lance’s fingers closing around her hand cut her off, and she sucked in a breath when she turned to him, his dark blue eyes catching hers. “Maybe you can tell me about it after?” he asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up hopefully.

Pidge would swear to her dying day she didn’t know what possessed her to quip, “Maybe I’ll even save the bath for then.”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and it took Pidge - with her blood rushing past her ears - wrenching her hand from his grip - to snap him from his daze. He scratched the back of his neck and smiled. “Th-that sounds nice,” he said, his voice cracking. “G-good luck with the king.”

“Thank you.” She grinned, pleased with how steady her own words sounded despite her racing heart, and continued her way through the yard, heedless of the whistles sent her way and Lance’s and forcing her mind to the most important task ahead of her.

But before she stepped through the tower entrance, she allowed herself a moment to stand and observe Lance, watching him poised at the end of the shooting range with his back to her. He raised the javelin, muscles shifting under his skin as he angled behind him before flinging it across the pitch.

It pierced the head of the straw-stuffed effigy at the other end.

Lance raised a triumphant fist when a fellow guard smacked him on the shoulder. He flexed his arm, then shot a glance over it, smiling when his eye caught hers.

Pidge retreated in a daze, imagining that smile pressed against her lips, those hard-working muscles under her hands, and those strong arms wrapped around her.


	96. Surrogate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the trope mashup prompts: Bodyguard AU / Pregnancy Fic
> 
> Modern AU, angst and fluff/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179577521623/14-and-32-for-plance-please)
> 
> Also has mild lotura
> 
>  
> 
> ~~i've never written pregnancy before~~

Pidge could easily admit - at least to herself - that she didn’t always make the best decisions. First there was when she broke into a government office in the middle of the night and got arrested when an agent caught her hacking into a computer. Then there was her brief stint in prison after being charged with an  _actual_  felony that kept her from finding gainful employment. And  _then_  there was her disastrous attempt at whistle-blowing before the threats against her family started filtering in.

(She never claimed her hacking was unsuccessful…)

But when she found herself and her family struggling to make ends meet, desperately strapped for cash, the ad online was too  _enticing_.

Now she was pregnant with a near-stranger’s baby - a baby that, genetically, wasn’t even  _hers_.

Which was all well and good, she thought on her darkest days while crouched over a toilet puking her guts out even though she couldn’t keep anything down. But to make matters worse, she carried the baby of one of the most powerful couples in the city.

A couple in the midst of a nasty divorce.

And Pidge, caught in the middle with two families - at least one of which was  _definitely_  involved in the same shady science her family lost their credibility to - feuding over the baby that made its home in her uterus, could only watch.

“God, I hate my life,” she moaned, clutching her roiling stomach as she stumbled out of the bathroom and collapsed face first onto the hotel bed.

“Why would you hate it when you have  _me_?” Lance wondered. His hand roved up and down her back in soothing circles, the bed sinking under his weight as he sat beside her.

Pidge rolled onto her side to face him, an eyebrow raised and a scowl twisting her lips. “I’m broke and pregnant,” she pointed out. “What’s not to hate?”

“You’re…barely even showing?” he offered with a sheepish smile.

She rolled her eyes and curled up into a ball while heat pricked at her eyes.

And how emotional her raging hormones made her was  _another_  thing; crying at the drop of a pin was growing tiresome.

Lance at least was surprisingly understanding. Allura - the baby’s biological mother - hired him as her bodyguard, wary that her husband - soon to be ex - would attempt to kidnap her and the child…or worse.

Pidge could hardly wrap her head around the world she stumbled into out of sheer desperation. She  _really_  should’ve listened to Matt when he told her the money wasn’t worth it…

Tears pushed past her eyelids as the first sob shook her body. She covered her mouth with her hand, embarrassed to be crying in front of someone.

But Lance tugged at her arm, pulling her upright and into a hug until her cheek pressed against his chest and her tears soaked into his shirt.

Somehow that only made her sobs louder, made it harder to breathe, made snot drip down her nose. She wrapped her arms around Lance, clutching at the back of his shirt while his fingers combed through her hair.

“I-I’m s-so f-f–stupid,” Pidge blubbered, choking on the swear, absurdly fearful the tiny embryo growing in her womb would hear her. “I-I’m p-p-pregnant w-with a baby th-that isn’t even  _m-mine_ , a-a-and I can’t get a real j-job, a-and I-I’m s-stuck in a h-hotel room because L-L-Lotor is a  _psycho_  a-and”—she gasped for breath—"can’t see my f-family and I’ve n-never even had  _sex_!”

She knew she sounded hysterical, but with her life already spinning out of her control, what difference did one temper tantrum make?

“Wait,” Lance said, his hand in her hair freezing, “you’re pregnant and you’ve never had sex? That sounds just like a tele—"

“N-not another word, Lance,” Pidge hissed. “I  _kn-know_  how it sounds; it’s my train wreck of a life!”

Her eyes widened when he chuckled, his chest vibrating against her cheek. The sound filled her with a welcome warmth, shocking her enough that the tears stopped.

“S-stop laughing at me,” she protested weakly, smacking his back.

“O-ow,” he moaned halfheartedly. “I’m not laughing at you, Pidge.”

She pulled away to stare up at him while blinking the last of her tears from her eyes. “Then what are you laughing at?”

“Just…the situation,” Lance said, shrugging. “It’s so ridiculous, so the only thing to do is to laugh, you know? Maybe if you can, it won’t feel so out of your control.”

Pidge blinked, startled by his advice. Her breath caught when he leaned past her, but she relaxed as he plucked a tissue from the box on the bedside table and offered it to her with a smile.

She took it with mumbled thanks and wiped her nose, sniffing. “I-I don’t think I can laugh yet…”

“That’s okay,” he reassured her, resting his hand on her back. “I get that your life sucks, but don’t wallow for too long. It’s not healthy.”

Pidge nodded - she didn’t know what to say in reply - and leaned into him, happy to take whatever comfort and support he gave her. “Not all of it sucks,” she admitted, a slight smile pushing at her lips.

Lance’s arm wrapped around her back, pulling her a little closer. “Oh really?” He rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Yeah.” She smiled a little wider, and some distant, secret part of her thought that she wouldn’t mind being pregnant so much if the baby she carried belonged to the two of them.


	97. Glint of Silver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the trope mashup prompts: Roommates AU / It's Not You It's My Enemies
> 
> Urban fantasy AU, angst with some fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179635755128/for-the-trope-mashup-9-or-12-66-for-plance%22)

The envelope sits heavily in Pidge’s hand, and trying to stare through the paper to see its contents isn’t working. She’s not  _Superman_.

(Unless she is and the paper’s lined with lead?)

A divining charm wielded nothing, so she knows it’s not enchanted. But she can’t  _not_  be suspicious of an envelope that someone dropped through a greenhouse window right in her office, her alias -  _Pidge Gunderson_ \- printed on it in purple ink.

Keith hopping onto her cluttered desk jerks her from her thoughts. She offers the envelope to him, and when he sniffs it he says,  _It_ _’s clean. No magic at all…_

“Not even a werewolf?” she half-teases, quirking an eyebrow.

He bares his white fangs in displeasure, indicating he doesn’t appreciate her joke, but Pidge laughs as she slices the envelope open with a knife.

Her mirth fades when a small metallic cylinder falls out and rolls across her desk. With the air trapped in her lungs, Pidge picks it up with a pair of forceps and raises it to her eye.

A bullet.

A  _silver_  bullet.

She drops it into an empty glass with a clatter and, with her heart beating an uneven rhythm against her ribs, pulls a note from the envelope.

_You have until the end of the month._

_-S._

A scowl twists her lips, fury gripping her as she crumples the note in her fist and throws it against the opposite wall with a wordless yell. She glares at where it lands in one of her many pots of soil before anger dissipates and something like gut-wrenching  _fear_  replaces it instead.

Pidge buries her face in her hands. “W-what am I going to do?”

Keith, bristling and startled with his ears folding back, prompts,  _Pidge?_

“I-I screwed up,” she confesses in a low voice, pressing her fingers into her eyes, “ _again_.

“What now? Every time I think I’m close to bringing them down, they—” Her chest tightens, but her rage is quickly returning, her fingernails digging into her palms.

The silver bullet sitting in its glass catches her eye, mocking her, but before she can grab  _that_  and chuck it across the room, a patterned knock sounds from the door.

“Are you okay, Pidge? I heard you yell, and I can smell your f—”

She sucks in a breath, her heart racing while her gaze roves around the room, searching for an excuse. “I-It’s nothing, Lance,” she replies as levelly as she can. “Keith just…started digging in one of my planters and I thought he might’ve gotten to the roots.”

Keith hisses at her, ignoring her apologetic shrug, his bushy black tail swishing behind him as he hops off her desk and darts behind her bed.

To her relief, Lance seems to buy her excuse. “Are you  _sure_  Keith is your familiar and not just a cat you brought to torment me?”

Another hiss from behind her bed, and Lance grumbles, “Fine, fine, you understand every word I’m saying…”

A reluctant smile pushes at her lips, and she props her elbow on her desk. “Yes, he  _is_  my actual familiar, Lance.”

“Just making sure since if the landlord finds out—”

“What is this, your fiftieth time asking?” Pidge wonders, raising an eyebrow at the door. “And you don’t care about the landlord finding out; you just don’t like cats!”

“Pidge, I’m a werewolf!” Lance retorts, and she can imagine him rolling his eyes. “It would be weird if I  _did_  like cats, so you’re lucky I like  _you_  enough to let him stay!”

Pidge’s pathetic heart skips a beat, but she manages to respond a little breathlessly, “I-I’m flattered.”

“A-anyway,” Lance continues, his voice cracking, “since I’m here you want to…do something tonight? I’m leaving in the morning since tomorrow night’s the full moon so…”

In her mind’s eye he smiles sheepishly, hopefully, and rubs the back of his neck while shifting from foot to foot. Nervous tics…but why is he nervous?

The note echoes through her head, the silver bullet a subtle but obvious threat that fills her with foreboding. She’s running out of time…

But there’s no reason she can’t enjoy what she has left with Lance.

“All right,” she says, smiling. “What did you have in mind?”

* * *

 

“I’m moving out,” Pidge announces while they’re watching a movie.

Lance isn’t sure what it’s about, or even what the title is. Pidge chose it - it looks like some kind of thriller, with a plot more complicated than the action movies he prefers - and he shrugged when she connected her laptop, entertained enough by the occasional explosions and how soft her hair feels between his fingers when he teases out the tangles.

But his hand freezes as he processes her words, his heart plummeting. “O-oh? You…found a better place?”

And what’s wrong with  _their_  apartment? Sure, the kitchen is tiny and some mysterious substance stains the sofa cushions and there are tiles missing in the bathroom and the power outages are just a little  _too_  frequent and the smoke alarms are overly sensitive and at least three streetlights need replacing at any given time and water drips in through the windows whenever it rains, but it’s still  _home_.

“Yeah, I-I found a new job.” Pidge sits up, her body drifting away from Lance as she avoids his eyes.

“I didn’t even know you were looking for a new job,” he says, unable to keep the hurt from his voice.

“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew it would work out,” she says with an apologetic smile. She rests her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I’m not leaving till the end of the month.”

“Time enough to find a new roommate, huh?” Lance raises an eyebrow, trying not to show how much  _that_  thought hurt. “What’s wrong with your job here, Pidge?”

“Nothing,” she admits, shrugging. “I just felt a little…stagnant. I needed a change, somewhere I could grow, and some place closer to my family. I miss them.”

A sigh escapes him, and he musters a smile for her when she looks up at him. “I can understand that,” he says. “I guess I’ll have to miss you now.”

Pidge half-jumps into his lap when she throws her arms around his neck. “I’ll miss you too,” she murmurs, her warm breath brushing his ear, her sweet, earthy scent filling his nostrils, “you goofball.”

* * *

 

Lying to Lance leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, and the guilt weighing down her heart only grows heavier the longer he’s away.

By now she’s accustomed to him spending a day or two out of every month in a rented warehouse on the waterfront - despite her brewing a potion to mitigate the worst of his transformation, he errs on the side of caution and spends the full moon away from her - but this time the apartment’s emptiness and  _quiet_  stabs something through her chest and twists.

A big part of her wants to utilize the time she doesn’t have her job at the greenhouses to distract her hunting down the one who sent her that note, but she doesn’t have anything personal - the bullet is completely clean of fingerprints and oils and the note wasn’t written by hand - with which to cast a tracking spell.

Besides, whoever it is surely has powerful friends…friends that can still make her life or the lives of her loved ones miserable or  _worse_.

If Pidge can’t take the Galra down from the top in one fell swoop, picking them off one by one won’t help if they can so easily pinpoint the one person she cares for in the whole damn city.

 _You can always tell him,_ Keith suggests, interrupting her moping by prodding her hand with his head.

“What good will that do?” she asks. She rests her hand on his back when he curls into a ball beside her, careful not to pet him lest he decide he’d rather bite her. A heavy sigh escapes her, and she burrows deeper into a blanket that smells like Lance’s natural musk. “He’ll just try to convince me to stay anyway, and I’m worried it’ll  _work_.”

God, but she  _wants_  to stay with him. She enjoys the stability in the routine they established in the year she’s lived here, enjoys his company and their banter, enjoys playing video games on the nights he has off from work and convincing him to sample the potions she sells via Internet order and hearing that curious, low growl from the back of his throat when they’re out and an inebriated man so much as leers in her direction…

But she  _needs_  to keep him safe, even at the expense of her happiness.

 _What can the Galra really do?_ Keith scoffs.  _The second they make a move—_

Pidge smacks her hands to her face and hisses, “I don’t have the proof I need yet! I can expose them to mortal police, but what damage will  _that_  do?” She bolts to her feet, displacing Keith as she stalks into the kitchen and fills a kettle while her heart pounds a frantic tempo. “As long as I’m digging - as long as they’re intact - then they’ll keep threatening m-my mother and”—she flicks the stove on under the kettle—”now Lance too.”

How stupid was she to think that simply moving would put them off? Feigning an identity and living under an assumed name only shifted their focus from her mother to…her roommate.

The same roommate she fell in love with.

She opens and slams shut cupboards searching for her tea, and when she finds them in the back of a drawer, the mix she wants isn’t there.

“For the love of the—”

Something tugging on her pant leg attracts her attention, and she peers down to see Keith with a plastic bag in his mouth.

“Thanks,” she says with a sheepish smile, holding her hand out to accept the bag of dried flowers when Keith jumps onto the counter. She raises an eyebrow at him after dumping the tea into the boiling kettle, watching him nibbling the pads on his paw. “You know Lance doesn’t like it when—”

 _I won_ _’t tell him if you don’t,_ Keith tells her.

The knife in Pidge’s chest twists, and she bites her lip and says, “It’s far from the worst I’m keeping from him.”

* * *

 

After calling his mother like he does the morning after any full moon, Lance stands outside his apartment doorway. The ache of a transformation behind him still fills his muscles, and he wants nothing more than to crawl under his bedsheets and sleep the day away until his night shift.

But he can’t enter yet, not when Pidge might already be at work and he might walk into an empty apartment just like he will every morning after she leaves.

While he deliberates with dread tying his stomach into knots, the door swings open.

Pidge pulls up short, her eyes widening behind her glasses as they focus on his face. “Lance,” she breathes. “Y-you’re back early.”

“I am?” He frowns, something about her demeanor making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and…oh, yes, that’s the bitter scent of fear wafting off her. “Pidge, are you—”

“Running late for work?” she interrupts with a too-broad smile. “Yes, yes I am.” She hefts her bag higher onto her shoulder and adds, “I’ll be staying late to make up for it too. Don’t expect me to be back before you leave. Bye, Lance!”

Pidge pushes past him without waiting for him to say anything, but as she speeds down the hall and disappears into the stairwell, he raises a hand and waves.

It’s much the same for the next week, with him only seeing Pidge as he returns home from work and she leaves for hers with nothing more than a curt goodbye. Not so much as a hug exchanged or a stray touch or a kind word.

He sits alone in their apartment on the same couch they’ve fallen asleep on together countless times, enveloped by the unique sweet scent of her brand of magic and declining his friends’ invitations to go out on his night off - the first night he has a prayer of his time home overlapping with Pidge’s.

Lance’s chest tightens, and he can’t help wondering if he’s lost Pidge before she’s even left him.

* * *

 

Pidge’s first thought when she steps through the doorway is that she should’ve bought more food from the Thai takeout place on the next block.

Her second thought is  _why is Lance home?_

He’s slumped on the couch, a furrow in his brow and the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth while he clutches a Gameflux controller, still wearing his pajamas with a massive cowlick at the back of his head like he just rolled out of bed.

Which, considering his schedule, he probably  _did_  just roll out of bed.

But the sight of him sitting there makes her breath catch. For the last week she’s timed it perfectly so that she comes home after he leaves for work, so seeing him there is…unnerving.

“What’re you still doing here?” she blurts once she finds her tongue.

Lance sags as his character on screen dies, the music descending a scale, and looks over the back of the couch towards her. “I…have tonight off from work?”

Pidge’s jaw flaps uselessly. She sets her dinner on the kitchen counter while she recovers before finally saying, “I forgot.”

“Oh, so if you knew I didn’t have work tonight, you would’ve…what?” Lance shoots to his feet and wanders around the sofa into the kitchen, his eyebrow raised and arms crossed. “Spent the night at the greenhouses to avoid me?”

His accusation squeezes her heart, and she can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She busies her hands with pulling takeout boxes from the paper bag and says, “I just…have a lot of packing to do before I move, and with you distracting me—”

“Avoiding me before you leave isn’t going to make it any easier on me…or on either of us,” Lance points out in a low but cutting voice. “A few weeks aren’t enough time to find a new roommate, for one; do you know how hard it was to find someone after Hunk moved out?”

Pidge bites her lip, fingers tightening around the box of chicken satay while an unreasonable spike of irritation hits her. “I guess I’m just convenient because I didn’t mind the whole werewolf thing, huh?”

Lance’s eyes widen, his jaw dropping. “Wait, what—”

She glares at her food and bites out, “I’m used to your mannerisms - like your hypersensitive nose and ears and your meaty diet and your overprotectiveness while we’re out - so you just don’t want the inconvenience of finding someone else like me to split rent with.”

Pidge swallows around a stupid, sudden lump in her throat at the thought that Lance  _would_  one day replace her, even as just a roommate, even if it’s  _better_  for him.

“That’s not at  _all_  what I meant, Pidge!” he retorts, flailing his arms. “I mean, sure, having to find a new roommate  _is_  inconvenient, but maybe I just don’t want  _you_  to leave?”

She finally forces her eyes up to his, taking in his deep frown and just…how unhappy he looks.

She can wash that all away, take his hands - how  _tactile_  Lance is can be a blessing as much as a curse - and reassure him she won’t be going anywhere. But instead she grits out, “That’s not up to you.”

“I know it’s not,” Lance says, “but why avoid me?”

She pinches her eyes shut, pretends she can’t hear the hurt in his voice or feel the dread weighing her down.

 _He has a point,_ Keith offers from his perch on the back of the sofa.  _Why not just spend what time you have left with him?_

“Won’t you get jealous?” she mumbles, low enough that he’ll hear her but Lance won’t.

“Get jealous of who?” Lance says, quirking an eyebrow in confusion.

Ah, right…werewolf ears.

“Nothing, I just…” Pidge sags, the tension bleeding out of her. She sets her food down and flexes her stiff fingers, staring at them as she admits more easily than she should, “Y-you’re right. Avoiding you isn’t going to make me miss you any less when I leave.”

“So…?”

An unwitting grin pushes up her lips, stunned that only a single syllable can hold so much hope. She pulls a chair away from the kitchen table and says, “I know you prefer meat, but…what about with peanut butter?”

* * *

 

Half-empty boxes sit in piles all over the apartment’s interior, papers and books and binders and the leaves of potted plants poking out of them. Lance should be accustomed to them by now, should know to expect  _something_  sitting at the corner between his bedroom and the bathroom, but his toe always collides with a box heavy with old electronics and an encyclopedia on green magic.

The pain shooting through his foot almost distracts him from the pang in his chest when he lays eyes on a box that’s fuller every time he looks at it, but he’s no closer to figuring out some way to convince Pidge to stay.

It had been a mistake to whine about the difficulty he’ll have finding a new roommate, and reminding her that he relies on her to brew the potion that eases his monthly transformation is even more self-serving - and he can always ask Allura to connect him with someone else.

But Lance can’t picture himself living in an apartment devoid of Pidge’s potted herbs and bubbling cauldron and green magic “experiments”; he even can’t imagine scenting the air without catching a whiff of  _cat_. The image refuses to materialize, and he realizes with a startling clarity and with warmth spreading through his chest that he loves her.

Lance groans and drapes himself in the doorway to her bedroom. In a week all her belongings will be gone, from Keith’s cat tree in the corner to the grimoire of spells lying open on the vanity, nothing but her scent lingering behind…and even that will fade within a month.

A low, feline growl disrupts his bleak thoughts. When Lance zeroes in on the source, Keith meets his gaze from his hiding spot behind Pidge’s bed, his yellow eyes gleaming in the shadow.

“I guess you’re looking forward to being gone, huh?” Lance says, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. “Bet you won’t miss me, and I won’t miss you either!”

Pidge’s familiar doesn’t react beyond an agitated flick of his tail, which Lance can’t interpret. Reading feline body language isn’t exactly his strong suit.

The lack of response rankles his nerves. He sits heavily on the edge of Pidge’s bed and buries his face in his hands.

“Maybe I should tell her,” he mumbles. “Maybe if she knows I love her, she’ll change her mind…”

But what would be the point? If he tells her and she stays, won’t she regret not taking that new, better job to be closer to her family? Eventually she’ll just resent him…

“And if she feels the same, would she even want to leave?”

A clink of metal against glass makes him jump, and he spins around to see Keith vaulting from the desk onto the bed. He crosses to Lance on silent paws, something in his teeth  _glittering_.

“What’s that in your mouth?” he wonders, raising an eyebrow. When Keith bows his head, Lance’s eyes widen in alarm, and he taps his chin. “Wait, no, don’t eat that! If you die on my watch, Pidge will—”

Keith spits his “meal” into his open palm.

It burns his skin on contact, shooting hot pain up his arm. A yelp escapes him as he bolts to his feet, and he turns his hand, dropping something small and metallic onto the star-patterned comforter.

Lance rubs his hand, wincing at the lingering heat, more focused and intense than a sunburn. A red rectangular mark is burned into his palm.

He reaches a hand towards the tiny metal cylinder lying on the bed before thinking better of it.

He grabs the bath towel draped over the edge of Pidge’s desk chair and picks up the object with it, raising it to eye level. “What the cheese? Is this a  _bullet_?”

Lance glances at Keith seated on the bed, observes the thrashing of his tail and the black fur bristling along his spine.

And he may not know cats, but he does know Keith.

Just like he knows that a silver bullet can kill a werewolf dead if it so much as penetrates his skin.

* * *

 

Pidge hasn’t delayed coming home since she reached a truce with Lance, which is why finding him dressed in his security guard uniform and waiting to greet her before he leaves isn’t shocking.

But the way he looks at her when she passes through the door - like he’s never  _seen_  her before - makes her heart skip a beat in alarm.

Lance holds out his hand, and Pidge shakily wonders, “W-why are you wearing gloves in…”

The silver bullet glints almost prettily in his hand.

She sucks in a breath and raises her eyes to his, her whole body flushing with the wrong emotion - with  _anger_. “What the hell were you doing in my room?” she demands.

Lance’s fist closes on the bullet as he retorts, “Why do you have a  _silver bullet_  in there?”

“I have a—it’s not mine!”

“Then why do you have something that can  _literally_  kill me?” He drops the bullet on the coffee table, ignoring it when it rolls off and disappears under the couch, and peels off his glove. He waves his hand in Pidge’s face and exclaims, “Look at this!”

Her breath catches in her throat at the sight of the livid red mark on his skin, proof that just the touch of silver can hurt him. “I…you weren’t meant to find that,” she mutters lamely, her anger fading.

“Clearly  _Keith_  never got the message!” Lance gestures around the room, and it’s only then that Pidge recognizes her familiar is nowhere in sight. “And this is nasty enough it might scar!”

She pinches her eyes shut and says, “I-I’m sorry.”

“What’s it for anyway?” He crosses his arms, not quite looming over her but getting close. “You keep this in case I stick around for the full moon?”

“Of course not!” Pidge fires back, her fists clenching at her sides. “And even if you  _did_ , I know you’re not any danger to me!”

“Is it for someone else then?” Lance wonders. His demeanor shifts, tension filling his limbs and a scowl twisting his lips. “D-do you know many other werewolves that  _are_  threatening you and you need to defend yourself against?”

Pidge’s jaws flap uselessly, startled by his line of questioning, but her shame writhes in her stomach, at how close yet how  _far_  he is from the mark. “I…don’t know any other werewolves here, no…”

“Then why do you have it? I’ve never even seen you carry a weapon…or are you hiding a gun under your pillow too?”

“I carry mace,” she grumbles, but a sigh bursts from her and she mutters, “Someone sent it to me.”

Lance’s eyes widen. “Who? Did you tell—”

“Of course not!” Pidge retorts, glaring at him. “My mother’s a witch too, and I haven’t even told  _her_  that I live with a werewolf. W-why would I deliberately endanger you like that?”

“I don’t—wait,  _deliberately_?”

Her chest tightens, a grimace crossing her face. Of  _course_  he picked out the one word she shouldn’t have let slip. “Lance, I should—”

 _Come clean?_ Keith suggests from wherever he’s hiding.  _I agree._

“Shut up,” she mutters under her breath, although she suspects he’s somewhere he can’t hear her. She turns to Lance, who stares at her, his blue eyes no longer as accusatory but something in them still making the knife in her gut twist. “Keith gave you that, didn’t he?”

He nods. “I didn’t think a witch’s familiar could snitch on them.”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “When Keith and I renew our contract, I’ll have something to add to it, apparently…but he’s right. I  _should_  tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Lance asks warily.

“Something…important. Wait here.” She retreats to her bedroom - barely sparing a glance for Keith curled up on her pillow - and grabs the wrinkled note off her desk. When she returns to the living room, Lance sits slumped against the couch’s arm, and Pidge perches beside him.

She passes him the note.

“You want me to read during my time off the clock?” he grumbles, but his gaze already scans the words, eyes widening.

He waves it, glowering. “Who sent this to you?”

“A warlock named Sendak,” Pidge explains, a shiver of fear traveling up her spine at the image of his darkly enchanted smoky eye fixed on the camera - on  _her_  - every time she watched the chilling recording. “He’s a high-ranking member of the so-called Galra Empire.”

Lance’s eyes bug out. “Pidge, why are you—”

“My real name is Katie,” she confesses, wringing the hem of her sweater. “Pidge is a dumb childhood nickname my brother gave me.”

“Katie…” Lance breathes, almost like he’s tasting it, and Pidge has to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sound of her real name falling from his tongue.

“Why are you—”

“My dad was -  _is_ \- a witch too. His and my brother’s specialty is magical devices and technology powered with magic. They”—she inhales shakily, her heart squeezing—”were on the brink of inventing a sort of…magical battery with unlimited capacity that anyone, not just the creator, could add to or draw from.” She pulls her feet onto the couch and wraps her arms around her legs, swallowing. “Th-that’s when they, the prototype, and all the designs disappeared.”

Lance wraps an arm around her shoulders. She leans into him, closing her eyes and shuddering as his warmth envelopes her.

“And you think the Galra took them?”

“I  _know_  they did,” Pidge hisses, glaring through her eyelashes at the floor. “I combed the security footage from my dad’s lab more times than I can count until I found  _him_. And when I started to dig into them”—her fingernails dug into palms—”and I knew I had to disappear too.”

He prods her arm and presses, “But why is a warlock threatening you? What did you—”

Her throat itches as she blinks tears from her eyes. “I-it’s not me he’s threatening, Lance.”

“W-what?”

She pulls away from him, raising her gaze to his. “Th-the first time they threatened my mother,” she says carefully, “I didn’t believe them.” Her stomach roils with shame all over again, but she pushes it away. “Sh-she’s lucky all she lost is her voice.”

“O-oh.” Lance takes her hands, his surprisingly soft fingers wrapping around hers, and offers her a tremulous smile. “So they’re threatening her again?”

If not for him holding her hands, she would’ve smacked her forehead out of mounting frustration. “Lance,” she grits out, “Sendak sent me a  _silver bullet_.”

Guilt bites her when realization hits him, when his eyes shoot open and his fingers tighten around hers. “W-what?”

“You still want me to stay here?” Pidge asks, her brow furrowing. “Give me one good reason, Lance.”

His jaw sets, and he blurts, “Me!”

* * *

 

Lance refuses to second guess.

He kisses her, cupping her face between his hands and tilting her head back. Her scent - so much like the flowers blooming on the fire escape, so much like the pure magic that rises from the earth in the country - fills his nose. Her fingers curl around his wrists, her mouth a soft pressure against his.

A shiver runs up his spine at how effortlessly she takes over his senses.

A sigh escapes Pidge, warm against his lips, when he pulls back. Her eyes, slightly glazed and still glistening with tears and crossing to keep his in view, flicker open. “Lance,” she murmurs, her thumb skirting over the soft skin on his wrist and shooting heat up his arm.

Lance feels the dampness on her cheeks under his palms - against the burn - and wipes a tear that trails from the corner of her eye. “Pidge—”

She leans up and captures his lips again.

Pidge flings her arms around his neck, pulling him against her. He wraps his around her back, wanting to draw closer, to feel the heat of her body flush against his.

 _Always_  wanting her there, regardless of the threat. He can forgive her for keeping secrets if only she  _stays_.

Her fingers run through his hair, tugging him a little closer. His nose bumps hers, and they break apart, breathless.

“I-I love you, Pidge,” he murmurs into her lips, his eyes flickering open to meet hers, warm and brown. “Or…Katie.” He smiles, reaching up to brush her hair away from her flushed cheek. “I-is that a good enough reason?”

Lance reads the conflict in her face, his chest tightening when she pulls back with her eyes pinched shut.

“Th-that’s why I  _have_  to leave,” she tells him, even as her hand cups his jaw, her fingers soft and warm against his skin. “I love you too, so I don’t want to be the reason you get hurt.”

“You won’t be,” he insists with growing desperation. “I-I can take care of myself. And I even tolerate Keith!”

Pidge rests her forehead against his collar bone, a shudder rippling through her and the scent of her floral shampoo tickling his nose. “Lance,” she whispers, “you’re a security guard at a jewelry store.”

“So what?”

“So a supposed burglar can shoot you and make it look like an accident,” she suggests. “Someone can spike your food or drink with silver dust—”

“Then I’ll only eat or drink stuff that someone I trust prepares,” Lance counters. But a new idea takes root, and he licks his lips, his heart skipping a beat at what he’s about to suggest.

“Or—”

“Pidge,” he cuts her off, taking her chin and tilting her head back until their eyes meet, “how about I make the Galra my enemy too?”

She gasps, her eyes widening. “How is that a  _solution_?” she demands. “Do you know how  _dangerous_  they are? And you’re not even a witch!”

Lance raises an eyebrow. “Yes, I  _do_  know something about how dangerous they are, and I know people who know even better.” He can’t help glowering at her, still a little put out she kept her dilemma from him for a whole year. “And I can introduce you to them.”

“But—”

She falls silent again when he presses his lips to her wrinkled brow. “And you never know, Pidge,” he says, shrugging, “you might meet someone who wants to bring them down as much as you do.”


	98. Sneak Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the trope mashup prompts: Hair braiding/brushing / Sleep Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179662599353/94-and-95)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~also what're titles~~

~~~~It began as a comfort while they drifted further and further away from home. But now it’s a ritual, despite the warm familiarity of the Garrison - Pidge is still shocked how much she missed her lonely dorm room - and her family surrounding her again.

For the first time she appreciates Lance’s complaints about sneaking into her room - even if, aboard the Castle, fewer people wandered the halls - at night, when she slinks past a nurse on the evening shift dozing with his chin in his hand. But between the two of them, she’s the only one that can walk further than the length of a hospital room without risking passing out.

Pidge knocks softly against his door, already turning the knob with her other hand. Her heart jumps into her throat - she doubts her mother would be too enthused to learn she spent a night in her male teammate’s room, no matter how innocent their intentions - and she holds her breath until a soft, sleepy voice pipes up.

“Come in.”

She opens the door and walks into the shadowed room. She kicks off her slippers - they smack against the opposite wall - and approaches the bed as Lance sits up, propped against a pillow.

He raises an eyebrow. “Hey, what’re you doing here?”

“You tell anyone who knocks on your door at night they can come in?” she retorts. She can’t help the furrow in her brow, the twinge of disappointment in her chest that he hadn’t expected her.

Lance scoffs. “You could’ve been a nurse or something.”

Pidge’s hands rest on her hips as she rolls her eyes. “Yes, I’m here to check your EKG and take your temperature and make sure you don’t overtax yourself going to the bathroom again.”

His cheeks darken when he retorts, “That w-was… _one_  time! And how did you know about that?”

She crosses her arms. “Hunk told me, obviously, but…” Her irritation passes, and she wonders, “Do you want me to—"

“No, Pidge”—Lance’s fingers encircle her wrist—”stay. I’m just surprised you’re here, that’s all.”

Pidge meets his eyes, taking in his hopeful smile, before perching on the edge of his bed. She offers him a smile of her own and says, “You shouldn’t be, goofball.”

Lance tugs her closer, until she lies down beside him. His arm fits snugly around her shoulders, and their hands find each other, fingers intertwined with Pidge’s palm resting over his steadily pounding heart.

The beat reassures her, loosens some tension in her body she’d grown so accustomed to she forgot it was there. A soft sigh escapes her as she buries her forehead in Lance’s side, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

His fingers run through her hair, catching on tangles that remind her that it’s getting long enough to be trickier to manage. “You okay?” he murmurs.

Pidge nods, despite the sniffle that she muffles in his shirt, her grip on his hand tightening.

An enemy would have to move more than heaven and earth to force her to let go.


	99. Hypothermia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the trope mashup prompts: Locked in a Room / Bed-sharing
> 
> Canon-verse, hurt/comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179700322933/for-the-trope-thing-75-and-70-im-actually-weak)

Water steadily drips from an unseen source, filling the cell silent except for the sound of his own breathing. Light trickles in through a gap underneath the reinforced metal door - a door that his aching shoulder has intimate knowledge of before the guards got fed up with his shouting and heckling and chained his cuffs to the wall he now leans against.

It’s just enough light to see his hands in front of his face, but little enough that shadow hides the rest of the small cell.

Lance doesn’t know how long it’s been since they took Pidge…or if they’ll bring her back.

His jaw clenches with a fresh wave of anger, fingernails digging into his palms when he curls his hands into fists. But Pidge’s face flashing through his mind, her thrashing defiance as two Galra twice  _his_  size dragged her away before wide-eyed terror replaced it, sends a shiver of fear up his spine.

He should’ve fought harder, should’ve gone for their captors’ legs first. Maybe then they would’ve released Pidge and he wouldn’t have gotten an electric prod to the ribs for his trouble.

But again an enemy took her first, and again Lance was helpless to stop them.

The door creaks open and jolts him from his bleak thoughts, the intense light shining through blinding him. He raises his hands to shield his face, eyes pinched shut, but a low grumble from a guard makes him stiffen.

Lance forces his eyes open as a silhouette blocks the light.

He doesn’t think before launching himself forward, right as a Galra guard shoves Pidge into the cell.

He hisses when the chain jerks his hands up, wrenching his shoulders and sending pain up his arms, but when Pidge falls forward, she lands limply in his arms.

She’s trembling when he pulls her towards him, her whole body so cold in the thin prison uniform he can feel the chill rising from her in waves.

 _“Heat moves, not cold,”_ Pidge would correct if she’s more coherent.  _“Didn’t you pay attention during thermodynamics?”_

And Lance would grumble but would be so  _relieved_  she can correct him at all.

His gaze flicks up to the door, a snarl twisting his lips right as the guard slams it shut, plunging them into darkness.

Pidge’s violent shivering alarms Lance, his heart pounding with renewed fear. Even in the tiny strip of light her lips are blue, frost glistening under her nose and at the corners of her eyes.

He tries to tell himself that the shivering means she’s alive, that her body is trying to warm her, but it’s small comfort while her trembling shakes  _him_  and her teeth chatter so loudly he worries they’ll shatter.

Pidge opens her eyes so suddenly he gasps. Her gaze darts around the cell, confusion in her eyes when they pinch shut again and she whimpers, curling closer to his chest.

Her hands freeze his skin where her knuckles brush his neck.

Lance scoots backwards with Pidge tucked against him until he can lie down on the bed-nest thing in the corner. It provides some small amount of cushioning between him and the hard, cold floor, and when she lies beside him, curled into a tight ball, he loops his cuffed wrists over her head so she can nestle into him.

He flinches, startled, when Pidge’s cold fingers run through his hair. “Y-you’re doing that because they’re cold, right?”

Pidge tries to speak through her clicking teeth before she gives up with a frustrated hiss and nods.

“Turn around,” he tells her, smiling as relief that she’s here, that she’s responsive, finally washes over him. “I’ll warm them up.”

She shifts slightly, turning so that her back is to his chest. His hold on her tightens - as much as it can while his wrists are cuffed together - and he wraps her frozen fingers with his.

Pidge sags, the back of her head - even her hair is still too cold - resting against his exposed collarbone. Her trembling isn’t as extreme, her limbs more relaxed as her body unwinds, and she sighs in what Lance hopes is relief when he raises their joined hands to blow his warm breath across her skin.

He wants to ask for details about what happened to her, wants to know how to keep it from happening  _again_ , but while Pidge can’t speak for her shivering, he instead opts to fill the cell with his meaningless chatter.

“I miss food goo,” he tells her, his cheek resting against the crown of her head. “All they gave me while you were gone was this weird mush that was too salty.”

(He doesn’t tell her he felt too sick to do much more than taste it.)

Pidge shakes in what might’ve been laughter, a huff escaping her, and warmth fills his chest. She turns in his arms to face him, her arms wrapping around his back and her hands sneaking up the back of his shirt.

Lance yelps when her cold palms make contact with his skin, but as Pidge pulls them away he reassures her, “You just surprised me, Pidge.”

This time he winces when she touches him, but he’s not sure the shiver traveling up his spine is only from the cold she’s so eager to shake off.

Lance bumps his nose into her forehead and teases, “I know, I know. I’m just so hot you can’t keep your hands off me.”

Pidge pulls away to meet his gaze, rolling her eyes. “Y-y-y-you wish-sh-sh,” she stutters almost incomprehensibly.

Lance grins, so pleased that she’s talking that he doesn’t mind the slight. But it falters when he sees her lips are still cold and blue.

A flicker of impatience - of impotency - hits him, that he can’t even warm her up properly, much less protect her from whatever torture their captors visited on her. His heart races in rising frustration; his warmth…he needs to give it to  _her_.

Lance presses his lips to Pidge’s, and when he feels how  _cold_  hers are, his stomach turns.

She tenses against him, a startled gasp escaping her as he pulls away. “L-L-Lance?”

Her eyes are wide when he meets them with his, a slight and  _blessed_  flush in her cheeks. For a heartbeat this all feels like a sick fairy tale, his frozen crush slowly thawing in his arms.

Heat that would serve Pidge better rushes to his face. “S-sorry,” he says, voice cracking, “th-that wasn’t very romantic.”

His heart skips a beat when she laughs, her trembling arms around him tightening. “N-not m-m-much about this i-i-is…”

“I’ve had worse first dates,” Lance says. He rests his forehead on Pidge’s, a smile pushing at his lips when he notices she  _is_  warmer now, and brushes his nose against hers. “Even been handcuffed at one of them…”

“W-worse th-than h-hypothermia?” Pidge asks, an eyebrow raised. “W-worse than being made an experiment?”

Lance stiffens, his eyes widening as he blurts, “What? An  _experiment_? I thought…an interrogation?”

She shakes her head, a shudder wracking her small body, and explains, “I-it’s an ex-experiment to t-test our limits…our s-s-species’ endurance.” A grimace crosses her face, her brow furrowing, her fingernails digging into his back.

A part of Lance wants to demand what else they did besides  _freeze_  her in all that time she was gone, but horror sticks his tongue to the roof of his mouth and he decides he doesn’t want Pidge to relive it…or simply doesn’t want any nightmare fuel for himself.

But the way her eyes pinch shut, the way her grip on him tightens as her strength trickles back into her, fills him with renewed fury.

He doesn’t want her to learn more either.

“They won’t take you again,” he promises her with a vehemence in his tone that surprises him. He kisses her temple, offering her what comfort and warmth he can.

“W-what’re you going to do about it, Lance?” she challenges almost dejectedly. “Y-you’re ch-chained to the wall and th-they took our a-armor and bayards, s-so we’re stuck w-w- _waiting_  for rescue.”

Lance retorts, “Have a bit of faith in me, Pidge.”

Her hands, now almost as warm as his skin, cup his face as she grimaces. “I d-do have faith in you,” she says, “but I don’t know how we’ll get out of this…”

His eyes widen in surprise, but his chest heats from her reassurance. He bumps her nose and captures her eyes with his before insisting, “I’ve got a brain too, you know, so I’ll think of something…”

* * *

 

The next time they come, Pidge fails to stop Lance from offering himself instead. Her fists hammer against the cell door as they drag him away, the stupid, tremulous smile she knows he means to be reassuring a clear image in her head. She shouts expletives and threats at the guards until her anger is spent and she succumbs to fear.

Sobs shake her worse than the shivering did as she settles in for a long wait with nothing but her overactive imagination and dwindling hopes of escape to occupy her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dunno how they got there or what happens next...rescue, most likely


	100. Ferried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the tropes mashup prompt: Airport/Travel AU / Accidental Eavesdropping
> 
> Modern AU, action and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179746571548/trope-mashup-10-and-58)
> 
>  **warning** for non-graphic blood/injury
> 
> and i've never written plance as exes before...first time for everything (and tbh it's barely mentioned)

Lance was beginning to think he wouldn’t survive today, although it wouldn’t be for lack of trying.

His taxi hit another car on the way to the airport, a bus nearly barreled into him when he was in a hurry and he crossed to the departures entrance without looking both ways (he looked the wrong way crossing a one-way traffic circle), and he was  _pretty_  sure his soul left his body through his big toe when someone else’s trolley ran it over.

(And that was  _without_  counting the aggravating extra questions he suffered when he went through customs upon arrival as a perk of being…not white.)

He thought he could relax once he set foot on steadier ground - or the rolling deck of a ferry - but alas, it was not to be.

At first he hoped he misheard the two passengers nearby, that his overactive imagination - usually rife with fantasies of a heroic sacrifice he’d  _survive_  way out of his pay grade as a paramedic, and ones that resulted in a beautiful and grateful patient bestowing a kiss upon him - supplied him with some unneeded fuel.

But no, the big, buff lady in the padded leather jacket definitely told her willowy friend something… _odd_.

“I found the nerd,” Buff Lady said in a low voice.

“Shall I go  _talk_  to her?” Willowy Chick wondered, her tone sickly sweet as she bared her teeth in an unpleasant smile.

And Lance, despite being  _very_  off the clock and perhaps because he could, admittedly, be an idiot, crept closer…just to learn who they were talking about and if he should keep an eye out for her.

Buff Lady crossed her arms, muscles bulging through the tight sleeves of her leather jacket. “Not yet. We haven’t gotten Lotor’s signal yet.”

Willowy Chick’s hands rested on her hips, and she tossed her long hair. “Well, he’d better send it soon,” she whined, “because I’m getting bored.”

 _Lotor?_ Lance’s eyes widened, his sneaking brought up short at the name of one of the most famous and  _youngest_  scientific minds in the country.

_What the hell is going on?_

He held his breath as he drew closer to the women, leaning against the ferry’s railing as casually as possible. His eyes followed their gazes to the ferry’s lower deck, but more passengers milled about there so he couldn’t pick out from the crowd who they spied on.

Water split in ripples beneath the ferry’s hull as it sailed across the bay, the setting sun turning both sky and waves red; they were still only about halfway to the opposite shoreline…plenty of time for someone to cause mischief.

Buff Lady pulled a vibrating cell phone out of her jacket pocket, a smirk turning up the corner of her mouth as she showed the screen to her companion. “Looks like the time,” she said…right as she tugged a handkerchief over the lower half of her face.

“See you later, love,” Willowy Chick simpered, winking as she followed suit.

They split in two different directions - Buff Lady towards the cabin and Willy Chick towards the stairs leading down to the lower deck - and Lance…

Well, Lance didn’t know which one to follow.

His heart pounded, gritting his teeth as he tried to make a decision, before he darted towards the stairs. If Willowy Chick had a target in mind then–

The deck jerked beneath his feet.

Startled yells and shouts rose from the lower deck as Lance fought to keep his balance, and over it all - over the rush of waves that was no longer deafening with the ferry only bobbing along them with its engine cut off - the shot of a gun.

No more second-guessing then.

Lance took the stairs down two at a time, grumbling curses under his breath and shoving past panicked passengers trying to flee in the opposite direction. He winced when someone stepped on his still-sore toe, but his objective - the possibility that someone could’ve gotten hurt - spurred him on.

Never mind his heart pounding and blood rushing with adrenaline;  _those_  would also serve him well.

A short figure collided headlong with him when they tried to barrel past him with a laptop bag swinging from their arm.

Lance’s eyes widened, recognition giving him pause, as he blurted, “ _K-Katie_?”

The girl stiffened, her mad dash forgotten, and her gaze snapped up to his. “Lance?”

His jaw flapped uselessly as he stared at her, his chest tightening and a question sitting on the tip of his tongue but refusing to fall out.

 _What was his college girlfriend doing_ here _?_

“W-what’re you doing here?” Lance demanded when he finally recovered his ability to speak. “Th-there’s a hijacking or something going on!”

“I-I realize that!” Katie retorted, her wide, frightened eyes darting over her shoulder before flicking back to his face. “And Lance, you should probably know something…”

“What?  _Now_?” Lance rolled his eyes and tried to step past her. “I don’t have time for you now, Katie.”

He barely stopped himself from adding,  _Sound familiar?_  But Katie flinched, recoiling as if she heard what he left unsaid.

“I-it’s relevant,” she said, grabbing his wrist. When he met her eyes, his jaw set, she said, “Th-they’re after–”

A second gunshot rang out, echoing in the sudden and ensuing silence that enveloped the ferry’s lower deck.

Katie’s eyes shot open and drifted past him, a gasp escaping her.

Lance turned to look in that direction, his blood freezing at the sight of Willowy Chick with a handgun pointed at them…at  _Katie_.

He stepped between her and Katie, his blood rushing past his ears as fury filled him. “You’re not touching her,” he spat, limbs stiffening and ready to pounce.

Willowy Chick sneered and pronounced, “Too late.”

Before Lance could demand to know what she meant, a small hand tugged at the back of his shirt.

Dread tied knots into his stomach before Katie mumbled, “L-Lance…c-catch this…”

Lance spun around right as Katie slumped forward, falling against his chest. Her laptop bag hit the deck with a  _thunk_  - doubtless she’d scold him for not rescuing  _that_  first later, he  _hoped_  - but he barely registered it as something warm and wet soaked into the fabric of his shirt.

He lowered her to the ground, his paramedic skills and instincts taking over. He searched for the wound in her ribs - her eyelids fluttered and a hiss of pain slipped past her lips when his fingertips brushed it - and winced, his chest clenching while his gut churned with nausea at the sight.

_No…_

“Well,” Willowy Chick said, ambling over with her hands stuffed into her pockets, “help may be on the way, but she’ll be dead before any paramedic gets to her. Wonder what the odds are there’s a doctor aboard the ferry…” She sneered as she bent down to grab Katie’s laptop bag. “And really, this was all we needed; shooting her was just for fun…”

A scowl twisted his lips, but before he could act on impulse and the anger thrumming through his veins and dive at Willowy Chick, a weak squeeze around his fingers pulled him back.

“Y-you idiot,” Katie accused faintly. “M-my computer had important information on it…now they can save their skin…” Her eyes pinched shut, a grimace crossing her face, and Lance suspected it was in more than just physical pain.

He couldn’t help rolling his eyes, the gesture almost comforting in its familiarity. “ _Y-you’re_  an idiot for thinking I care more about your data than about you,” he fired back. “You’re lucky you’re pretty…”

Katie snorted, a smile pushing at her lips, and said, “I’m l-lucky you’re here…”

Lance didn’t care about the receding hum of a speedboat motor; he didn’t even care about the mind-boggling, career-destroying, gut-wrenching secrets contained on Katie’s laptop.

All he cared about was keeping her heart beating.

* * *

“Lance?”

Lance jumped, yelping when his hand, halfway inside a vending machine, smacked against plastic. He straightened, shaking it out, and turned to see someone he thought he’d never see again.

“Matt?” His jaw dropped, and he ran fingers through his greasy hair.

He  _really_  needed a shower soon…

Matt raised a hand and waved, a slight smile on his face as he eyed his uniform. “You work here?”

“Uh…” Lance rubbed the back of his neck and admitted, “No…I’m a paramedic. Don’t really work at a particular hospital.”

“Then you…just brought a patient here?”

Heat rushed to his face. “I was just…visiting someone after my shift.” He grinned, hoping that, despite his heart performing odd gymnastics, he seemed nonchalant.

Matt crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. “Could that someone be my sister?”

“I…” Lance sighed and nodded. “Yeah, but they won’t let me in to see her since she’s in the ICU and I’m not family.”

To his surprise, Matt’s ensuing frown looked sympathetic. “Well, there’s no reason I can’t sneak you in.”

Lance’s eyes widened as a grin pushed at his lips. “Really? You’d do that?” But then his heart dropped, a long-ago memory rising to his mind. “I don’t know…what if she doesn’t want to see me?”

“Clearly you don’t think that since you’re here anyway,” Matt pointed out. “Perfectly justifiable, I think, since you were the one who kept her alive.”

Lance’s jaw flapped, stunned all over again. “H-how did you—”

“What? Not going to brag?” He shrugged, and Lance couldn’t tell if he was impressed by his unwitting reticence or not. “She told me when she woke up; one of the first things she did was ask about you, which was odd since I thought you hadn’t seen each other in a few years.” Matt smirked. “For a few seconds I was worried she’d lost some of her memory.”

“R-right,” Lance said. “But…yeah, I want to see her, at least make sure she’s okay and not…mad at me.”

Because once his initial panic and concern nursing her receded - once the Coast Guard arrived with a doctor in tow - worry over the fallout of the woman who’d shot her taking her laptop set in.

And he knew from past experience that her anger was a sight to behold.

“Mad at you for saving her life?” Matt snorted and beckoned for him to follow him out of the hospital’s cafeteria and towards the elevator. “Please, at most she’ll be annoyed that you lost her laptop—”

_Does he know what’s on it?_

“—and at least she’ll be grateful.” Matt turned to him when they paused to wait for the elevator and  _winked_. “Maybe you’ll even get a kiss out of it.”

Lance’s heart skipped a beat at the thought, but…well, he shouldn’t get his hopes up, not when she ended their relationship the way she did. He just wanted her to recover…although he wouldn’t complain if their friendship recovered too.

The prospect put a smile on his face, an image of her apologizing before her lips brushed his cheek playing out in his mind.

Until Matt interrupted to ask, “By the way, Lance, didn’t you buy something from the vending machine?”


	101. masks for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a Pidgance Positivity Discord prompt challenge posed:
> 
> Premise: Pidge has arrived at an incorrect conclusion and is upset.  
> Must feature: a Lance & James interaction, reference to soulmates, and a disciplinary action
> 
> Historical-ish AU, angst and fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179817297243/masks-for-two)
> 
> sorry i haven't updated this in a while!! i've had an...interesting last couple of weeks

Pidge runs the pad of her thumb over the silver coin's mint. The face of a lion stares at her, its jaws parted in a roar, the royal words of the Kingdom of Altea inscribed beneath it.

"Heads I tell him," Pidge decides, "and tails I don't."

She flips the coin.

It lands with the lion's face up on her palm.

Pidge's heart skips a beat in anticipation, her hands curling into fists at her sides while she stands just outside of the doorway to the tavern she often spends evenings in, drinking with Ancel and Hunk while waiting for some choice gossip to catch her ear.

Ancel...a wanted thief and a pickpocket that helped her refine her own technique, taught her how to keep her ear to the ground and how to pick fact from fiction.

Ancel...who she loves.

Ancel...who is not her betrothed.

"One more time," Pidge decides before she flips the coin again.

This time it lands tails up. This time she chooses to say nothing.

* * *

Katie hates the guilt that writhes in her stomach every time she lays eyes on her betrothed. She hates that she can't bring herself to meet his gaze, hates that his attempts to draw her into a conversation fall flat to her, hates that every time he touches her hand she thinks of someone else.

Most of all, she hates that she can't simply break off their engagement and elope with the thief that stole her - or stole  _Pidge's_  - heart, not when her family needs this marriage to keep themselves afloat.

So Katie forces a smile onto her face when her betrothed shares a half-hearted joke that makes her cringe and imagines she's fighting a laugh at Ancel's antics instead.

* * *

"Good score tonight?" Pidge wonders. She rests her hands on her hips and watches Ancel round the corner of the orphanage he usually donates the bulk of his "earnings". 

"So far so good," he agrees. He throws a friendly arm around her shoulders and steers her towards the main avenue, and Pidge can't help - with a slight dip in her guilty heart - but lean into his warmth. "But I do have a daring exploit planned to cap off the night..."

"Oh?" Pidge raises a curious eyebrow at him and throws him a sideways glance. "Not Ambassador Sendak again?" Anger fills her at the memory of Ancel's injuries, her chest tightening when she recalls her own effort at treating him before swallowing her dread and dragging him to Hunk's inn. "Last time you tried, you were nearly caught."

Ancel grimaces, his arm around her tightening. "I would've been if not for you, Pidge," he reminds her.

Pidge only hums in response, although his words cause heat to rush to her cheeks and she bites her lip, fighting a smile.

"No, tonight I think I'll attempt stealing into the residence of one Sir Keith." The slightest hint of a scowl twisting his lips, but the smirk he flashes her from beneath his mask replaces it so quickly she wonders if she imagined it.

Pidge frowns and tells him, "Sir Keith is a frugal sort. I doubt he has any valuables at his residence."

"How do you know?" Ancel asks, his narrowed eyes falling on her.

Pidge's own eyes shoot wide open when she realizes what she's let slip - that she might've given away some facet of her true identity. "I, uh, it's my business to know these things, Ancel," she replies in a level tone.

"So it is," he agrees with a soft smile that's almost  _proud_. "I was just testing you, Pidge; if your sources say there's nothing of value at Sir Keith's residence, then there's nothing of value."

"Nothing but a luxite blade, no," Pidge mumbles, if only for the sake of accuracy. And the odds that Ancel - a common street thief, no matter how talented - will know the value of luxite are slim indeed.

* * *

Katie wakes with a strange sense of foreboding creeping into her. 

Pidge hasn't seen Ancel since the night he announced he planned to steal into Sir Keith's residence, and when she met Hunk last night, he'd been shocked by his absence too.

This morning Katie has a brunch to attend with her betrothed, so she forces herself out of bed despite the exhaustion that always lays thickly over her mind and body after an evening spent running around the less savory parts of the city with Ancel and Hunk.

She's dressed when a pageboy comes by her family's apartment with the message that the brunch was canceled.

"You mean I could've slept longer?" Katie grumbles, heedless of the defenseless pageboy turning and leaving, his task complete. She slams the door shut and trudges back into her bedchamber, falling face-first onto her bed, her hastily tied up hair spilling out of its ribbon.

"You mean you're disappointed you're not seeing your dear, darling—"

"Shut up, Matt," Katie interrupts as her brother saunters in her room. She rolls onto her back and sits up, glaring at him. "And no, I'm not disappointed, but I  _am_  annoyed."

Matt angles a thumb at the door behind him. "Well, as long as you're up, why don't we head to the university?"

Katie perks up, a smile pushing at her lips as she follows him out.

They pass through the Castle's entryway along their way...right in time to view an officer from the Royal Guard dragging a man with his wrists bound behind him up the grand staircase and towards King Alfor's audience chamber.

The arrested man faces away from Katie, but her breath catches when she recognizes the blue ribbon tying a mask that covers half his face in place.

His name slips past her lips before she can stop herself.

"Ancel?"

The man flinches, his head swiveling around and his eyes wide behind the mask. "D-do I know—wait,  _Pidge_?"

Heat rushes to her face when she remembers where she is - and  _who_  she is. She clutches at her skirts, heart pounding as she stares at Ancel.

The thief, caught and arrested and being dragged before the king.

"Lady Katie," the officer bringing Ancel says, pausing in front of her and Matt, "do you know this thief?"

"I-I—"

Matt's hand on her shoulder freezes her tongue to the roof of her mouth, and she can't bring herself to look at him lest she find some accusation - because how  _else_  would she know a thief if she is not one herself?

But Ancel's gaze captures hers easily, and her chest aches at how easy it is to recognize betrayal.

"I-I can speak on your—"

"No you won't," Matt says, sterner than she's used to hearing him. And between his hand on her shoulder and the tension in her limbs, Katie wonders if she's on the brink of arrest too.

"I told you to be careful who you associate with,  _Pidge_ ," her brother hisses into her ear as they follow the officer with Ancel. "I know you need your freedom, especially since you're marrying soon, but how the hell did you get tangled up with one of the most notorious thieves in the kingdom?"

"—caught the man in the blue mask at Sir Keith's residence, Your Majesty," the officer is saying as they enter the audience chamber. He roughly pushes Ancel to his knees.

Katie's heart is in her throat as she and Matt round the hall to join the cluster of nobles attending. She shrugs Matt's hand away and pushes her way to the front, determined to...

Well, she's not quite sure.

Prevent Ancel's unmasking when she's always been curious about what lies underneath the mask? Rescue him from a trial and thwart the king's law? Ruin her family and drive them deeper into debt when it costs her an advantageous marriage?

"Let's see who you've brought before us, Lieutenant Griffin," King Alfor says from his throne.

The hall collectively holds its breath as Griffin unties the blue mask.

The fabric falls away, and with it any trace of Katie's naivete.

" _L-Lance_?" she stutters.

His wide  _blue_  eyes - ancients, how did she never see it before? - find her in the crowd. "P—Katie," he says, voice low as a whisper amid the other spectators' gasps and startled shouts at a member of their own class revealed, "I-I'm sorry."

Katie wipes her sweaty hands on her skirts, but before she can run to him - she's not sure if the energy in her blood urges her to slap him or kiss him - Matt's fingers close around her arm and tug her back.

"I know you said you don't like your betrothed," he mutters, "but you must be soulmates if you both have a penchant for running around in disguise at night."

Katie's eyelid twitches as she retorts, "A penchant for secrets too."

That can change, she decides...right after Ancel's - Lance's - trial.


	102. Bad Press

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the tropes mashup prompt: Accidental Eavesdropping / I Didn't Mean to Turn You On
> 
> Modern AU, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/179903667793/maybe-58-and-86)
> 
>  **warning** for mildly suggestive dialogue

Pidge cursed the day she declined a job at a tech company in Silicon Valley just to  _stay close to her family_ , because the unintended side effect of staying close to her family was that she stayed close to…Lance.

Lance, her college classmate and unlikely friend - the only fine arts major whose name she learned - who somehow managed to hit a big break in his acting career less than a year after graduation.

Lance, who so desperately needed to bring a convincing plus-one to his ex-girlfriend’s wedding that he asked her to “date” him for the two months preceding the event.

Lance, who stormed through her workplace ignoring an alarmed shout from the receptionist until he halted beside her desk waving a magazine.

He dropped it on her computer keyboard and crossed his arms, glaring. “I never expected such  _betrayal_  from you!”

Pidge stared unseeingly at the magazine, her jaw set in irritation. “Lance, you can’t just come into my workplace and—”

“Pidge, how  _could_  you?” His finger prodded the magazine, drawing her attention to its cover.

Morbid curiosity and the desire to get him to  _stop touching her stuff_  forced her to pick up the magazine - the  _tabloid_  magazine. Bright colors and bold fonts stared up at her over celebrity thumbnail photos, a cover model with too much cleavage showing flashing white teeth in the center.

But what  _really_  caught her eye…was a slightly blurry photo in the corner - a photo of herself tucked under Lance’s arm, laughing while he smiled fondly at her.

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight, but  _only_  because she recognized it.

The same one stared her in the face from between framed pictures of her family at a rocket launch and of her cuddling her dog, helping her get through monotonous day after monotonous day.

“This picture’s on my desk,” she said hollowly. “I-it’s old - from college and  _before_  your stupid idea! - so how the hell did they get it?” Her heart pounded, with anger and not a small amount of anxiety.

Lance’s bribe no longer looked worthwhile.

“Wait, it is?” he said, his eyes widening and taking in her desk, but before she could react beyond the heat rushing to her cheeks, he scowled. “The picture isn’t the point! It’s the  _article_!”

“The—” Her mouth dried as she finally read the words cluttered around the picture.

_New Mystery Girlfriend Demystified! Our Lance, Bad In Bed?_

Pidge’s jaw dropped. “Oh.”

Lance snatched the magazine back. “That’s all you can say?” he demanded, flipping through its pages.

Pidge inhaled, collecting her thoughts and postponing her own defense as she stood and grabbed Lance’s wrist to drag him away from the prying eyes of her middle-aged male coworkers.

She wondered how likely it was that any of them would recognize him (maybe if they had teenage daughters that viewed Lance as some kind of heartthrob? Ha, in her day it was Orlando Bloom in a long, blond wig…), but who else could’ve shared a picture off her  _desk_  that predated her staged romance with Lance?

Besides, fake or not, it was a private matter and she did  _not_  need anyone to eavesdrop on this argument.

She shut and locked the door to the break room before turning to Lance, her palms sweatier than usual and her face hot. “So—”

“You told a  _tabloid_  that I’m ‘terrible and selfish’ in  _bed_!”

Pidge raised her hands defensively, fumbling for a lie, and retorted, “Y-you are! You’re a blanket hog!”

“You throw them off so why does it matter if I hog them?” Lance fired back. “And I know you know that’s not what they meant by asking what I’m like  _in bed_!”

Pidge scowled. “Fine!” she said, stepping towards him with her blood rushing in retaliatory anger. “You put me into a tight spot with this  _dating_  thing, and tabloid journalists found me on  _LinkedIn_  and started messaging me.”

“Wait, why didn’t you tell—”

“So when one approached me in person and asked what you’re like in bed, I panicked and said the first two unflattering adjectives that popped into my head!”

“Why  _unflattering_?”

“Out of spite, probably!” Pidge threw her hands up, aggravated and with a too-warm face, because the last thing she needed to think about right now was her and Lance in that…situation…together. She crossed her arms, forcing her mind back to the matter at hand, and grumbled, “I’m sorry, Lance. I’ll prepare a more  _flattering_  lie for next time.”

Lance deflated, most of his anger seeming spent as he frowned at the ugly tile floor between their feet. “The damage is already done,” he pointed out. “Now after we split, no one’s going to want to date me.”

Pidge snorted. “Why would you want to date someone that only cares what you’re like in…bed? And now that you know”—a smirk pushed at her lips despite her discomfort with the topic—”there’s always room for improvement.”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Pidge, I’ll have you know I’m a  _great_  lover that would happily see to your needs!”

Pidge only just stopped herself from demanding,  _Prove it!_

Instead she stuttered, “ _M-my_  needs?”

Lance’s eyes widened. “What?” He held his hands up, waving them frantically. “N-not yours! A hypothetical future girlfriend’s needs!”

Oh, her heavy, disappointed, traitorous heart.

Pidge bit her lip, her gaze drifting down. “I see…”

Her heart skipped a beat when Lance stepped closer, and she dared to glance up and meet his blue eyes and take in his dark cheeks.

He murmured, “I-I mean, unless you need me to set the record—”

A sharp knock sounded from the door.

Pidge stumbled backwards, her breath escaping her in a gasp. Lance jumped away from her, yelping when his head collided with a low cabinet.

Her heart still raced when she unlocked and opened the door to a coworker, who held up an empty mug with a baby’s face printed on it.

“You done? I need to make some coffee.”

“Yeah, I’ll just…walk my boyfriend out,” she mumbled.

Pidge grabbed Lance’s hand and towed him out of the break room and through rows of cubicles and out past reception. She apologized for her “boyfriend’s” behavior on her way out, and they made it outside before she dropped his hand and wiped her sweaty palm on her pants.

“Uh, I forgot the magazine—”

“I’ll get rid of it,” Pidge promised. She looked up at Lance, mustering a smile from somewhere inside, and said, “I really am sorry. I didn’t really think about your”—a grimace twisted her face—”reputation when I answered those questions.”

“It’s okay,” Lance said. “I’ve heard worse - I’ll probably  _hear_  worse before the world forgets about me - so…” He sighed and shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “I should at least…make sure nothing like this happens to you again.”

Pidge shrugged. “Guess it was only a matter of time before they found out who I am.” She flashed him a grin, warmth filling her chest when he returned it. “Besides, how are you going to rub it in your ex’s face if she doesn’t know about me? And I know you  _love_  attention, so it’ll be that much more fun when we break up.”

Her smile faltered just a bit at the thought, chest tightening.

Why? After the wedding she’d have all the parts and tech she needed for her side projects and the money to fund them…and she wouldn’t have to pretend to date Lance ever again. They could go back to being friends that rarely saw each other and steadily drifted apart while they pursued their own lives.

“You’re the best, Pidge.” Lance leaned down and pressed his lips to her cheek, a gesture that grew more familiar as their ruse continued - though it never failed to surprise her. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” She rested her hand on his arm, the subtle curve of his bicep obvious underneath two layers of clothes. “Don’t be late again.”

“Please, Pidge,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I’m never late to game night.”

She scoffed and said, “Why do I have a feeling you’re late to something right now?”

Lance pulled away from Pidge and checked his fancy watch. His eyes shot open as he said, “Holy crow, you’re right! Got a meeting…”

“And I have to get back to—”

He cupped her face and kissed her forehead, cutting her thought processes off.

Unlike holding hands and the kisses on the cheek in public, this was…unfamiliar.

But not disliked, Pidge decided as a smile pushed at her lips. She raised a hand and waved when he finally left, a smirk on his face as he retreated to the parking lot.

Only as she watched him pull his hood up over his head and don a pair of gaudy blue sunglasses did it hit her:

_Did Lance try to proposition me?_


	103. a personal mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not for a prompt, just for an image in my head
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/180438504138/a-personal-mission)

Lance embarks on a new mission the tick he returns from the last, but where that one left him aching and very nearly killed him, this one invigorates him with potential.

The Red Lion touches down outside the well-lit palace. He doesn’t bother taking off his armor and slipping into something more comfortable, but he leaves his helmet sitting in his seat.

Party guests spill out from the palace’s grand entryway and down the wide staircase carved of stone that glitters in the light of a violet moon. They raise hands or tentacles or claws in greeting, but Lance, resolve speeding his step and stiffening his spine, only spares them a brief smile and a nod.

Once, he might’ve been offended at an event like this taking place without him, but he knows that life in the universe marches on even without the Paladins of Voltron watching. And he can better appreciate the joy and revelry around him after a grueling fight that leaves him drained of energy and longing for a warm bed.

But  _her_  presence draws him, chases the exhaustion away and reminds him of his self-imposed objective.

 _“If I survive this,”_ he promised Red in the midst of the worst barrage,  _“I’m telling her.”_

The sight of her standing amid a crowd of aliens takes his breath away. Her hair spills out of a bun and frames her round, pale face, her brown eyes huge even without her glasses to magnify them, the slightest shine to her lips from gloss. Her knee-length floral-patterned dress hangs loosely over her frame, but its wide neck exposes a hint of collarbone, just enough to stir something in his stomach.

All this - all her beauty - cannot even begin to encompass the pull her gravity has on Lance.

But it’s not just gravity, not when she would correct him and insist that  _gravity_  is a relatively weak force and only the largest of bodies exerts anything of significance. She - her heart and mind and  _soul_  - attracts him like they exist as two opposite poles of a magnet.

His chest clenches when he notices she doesn’t smile.

Her face, usually so animated, is sober, unaffected by the energy of this gathering. And when she does make an effort to smile while the rest of her companions laugh, it doesn’t reach her eyes.

That’s something Lance knows how to do that few outside her family do.

Lance barely hears the conversations that fill the hall, doesn’t even make note of the music permeating everywhere. Her side is his goal, her laughter and chatter the only sounds he wants to fill his ears.

But blood rushes past his ears, anticipation making this moment drag and flow fast at once. His eyes fix on her, waiting for the instant—

Her gaze snaps up and meets his, her lips parting in surprise before they push up into a smile that shoots warmth into his chest as he answers it. She steps away from those intent on her, hastening towards him, and he speeds his own pace, oh so eager to fulfill this new mission.

Pidge raises her hand and, when she’s so close all he need is reach out to her, exclaims, “Lance! You’re—”

Lance kisses her.

One hand fits perfectly on her small waist, his other cupping her cheek and tilting her head back as he leans down. Her breath stutters against his lips as his eyes slip shut, the better to savor the moment.

When her lips part under his, when she slides her hands up his chest and winds her arms around his neck, his heart races the way it never does even when someone threatens him.

Lance doesn’t realize a hush fell over the gathering - the musicians resting - until he and Pidge part breathlessly. Heat fills his cheeks as he grins down at her, her own smile and red face radiant.

It gives him enough courage to blurt, “I’m in love with you.”

Pidge’s fingers run through his hair and push his head down until his nose brushes hers. “I was going to say that you’re late,” she murmurs almost against his lips.

Lance wants so badly to taste her again, but now that he’s said what he needs to, now that he remembers the eyes on them, he wants more to slip away from the party and take her with him. But he jokes, “It’s called being fashionably late, Pidge.”

She snorts. “You’re so dramatic, Lance,” she teases. She surges up on her toes, leaning heavily against him, and presses a soft kiss that makes his heart sing to the corner of his mouth. “You’re lucky I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH and the amazingly talented [artemisarya](https://artemisarya.tumblr.com/) did art for this, which you can see and gush over [here](https://artemisarya.tumblr.com/post/180546293021/plance-fanart-of-the-amazing-fic-a-personal)!!


	104. Euphoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted but inspired by [this tumblr post](http://justpidgance.tumblr.com/post/164269438225/okay-but-what-if-lance-is-in-such-a-euphoria-after)
> 
> Canon divergent from season two, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of the very first fics i posted to tumblr!! and now i'm posting it (and a few others) here to this collection to make sure they're somewhere non-tumblr users can find them because...yeah, that Drama. but anyway
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/164435902608/justpidgance-okay-but-what-if-lance-is-in-such)

Over the coms, Pidge could hear her fellow Paladins celebrating in their own ways. Hunk was on the verge of sobbing in relief, Shiro congratulated them on a job well done, Keith was - predictably - mostly quiet except when replying to the others, and Lance was...

Well, Lance sounded so happy and exuberant that Pidge couldn't fight her smile. He maintained a steady stream of chatter, pausing only to listen to the others give their own input. Some of it was self-congratulatory (it wouldn't be Lance if that wasn't the case), but the rest praised them too.

"...and that was some quick work with the shield, Pidge!" he was saying.

Pidge blushed like she didn't when Shiro or Allura praised her. "Thanks, Lance," she said, managing to keep the stutter out of her voice.

They reached the Castle quickly, tucking the Lions into their hangars, before meeting in the bridge with Princess Allura and Coran. "Well done, Paladins!" said Coran.

"Yes, you have achieved a great victory!" agreed Allura, clasping her hands together in excitement. On her shoulders, even the mice applauded.

"Thank you, Princess!" said Lance, sweeping an exaggerated bow to her.

"We couldn't have done it without you, Princess," said Shiro, shooting her a smile, which she returned.

They all took off their helmets, expecting Allura to debrief them, but before she could, it became clear that Lance wasn't done.

"I'm not gonna lie, though," he said. "I thought we were all gonna die when we were hit by that quintessence, but here we are!" He waved his arms, gesturing at all of them. "Here's Keith in all his hotheaded glory." He patted him on the back; Keith rolled his eyes but accepted the affection with a small smile.

"Here's are fearless leader Shiro in all his encouragement and wisdom." Lance threw an arm around Shiro's shoulder, but he was quick to retract.

"Here's our genius Pidge in all her wit and cunning!" He grabbed Pidge by the waist, spinning her around. Pidge's breath caught, and before she could ask Lance what he thought he was doing and to  _please put her down_ , he kissed her full on the lips.

It was over before she could process what he'd done. He set her down, gently, and continued as if he hadn't just  _kissed her_ , "And I can't forget Hunk, our strong and steady leg!" He chest-bumped Hunk, who laughed and clapped Lance's shoulder.

Pidge witnessed Lance congratulating Hunk in an absentminded fog, her brain still lagging on the fact that  _Lance kissed her_.  _Why did he do that?_

"Pidge?" a voice said. "Pidge?"

Hearing her name tore the blanket covering her mind. She shook her head to clear it and looked at Allura, who stared at her, eyes wide and worried. "Huh?"

"Are you all right, Pidge?" she asked her.

 _Did I imagine it?_  "Yeah, I'm..." Her eyes darted around the bridge, and she spotted Lance shaking the paws of the mice one by one, a huge grin splitting his face. "Yes, Princess, I'm fine."

"Good," said Allura, tapping her nose thoughtfully. "Because I have a question."

She glanced at her, noting the curiosity in her expression. "What?"

"What exactly did Lance do to you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this chapter and the next few will probably be fairly short and really old ~~so much for keeping this collection in order~~


	105. The Bodyguard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly prompted
> 
> Bodyguard AU, very short

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old, originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165177196388/amillionsmiles-replied-to-your-post-plance)

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead!" Lance called, a mug of coffee in one hand while he nudged open Pidge's bedroom door with the other.

He half-expected her to be slumped over her desk, her laptop still open with her head lolling forward. Or even, maybe for once, she actually made it to bed before falling asleep. But no, her room was completely empty of life, except for Artemis curled up on a pillow on the made bed.

The white cat perked her head up, staring at Lance with curious green eyes. The mug slipped out of Lance's fingers, coffee soaking into the ugly beige carpet while it shattered against the hardwood of the hall.

Lance rubbed his face. "Not again," he moaned.

Pidge's cat stood and stretched laboriously before hopping down and coming to investigate the spill. Lance stared down at her and asked, "So do  _you_  know where she went this time?"

Predictably, Artemis only meowed. She was probably hungry.

Lance sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. The captain would  _not_  be happy with him, and he dreaded telling her. Unless he could find Pidge  _first_.


	106. Cherub

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not prompted but inspired by [this post](http://justpidgance.tumblr.com/post/165223842290/pidge-is-assigned-shes-one-of-the-cupids-to)
> 
> Cupid AU, fluff and angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some one-sided allurance, another super old fic
> 
> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/165239307423/justpidgance-pidge-is-assigned-shes-one-of-the)

For all that she saw people fall in love all the time, Pidge knew nothing about  _romance_. Which was why she was completely ill-equipped for this task, but here she was, her wings tucked away in their pocket dimension, sitting on the sofa of the last person she shot and reading a book called  _Romance for Dummies_.

Lance emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fruity shampoo and piney cologne. Pidge wrinkled her nose at the scent, and she barely spared him a glance at first, eyes flicking up from the book to appraise him.

"How do I look?" he asked, holding his arms out.

Pidge shut the book with a sigh - none of its suggestions felt  _right_  to her - and actually  _looked_  at him. Blue button-down shirt with the cuffs rolled up almost to his elbows over dark jeans and nice square-toed shoes; smile wide and expectant, if a little nervous; blue eyes bright; dark brown hair artfully messy, just long enough to brush the tops of his ears.

"You need a haircut," Pidge quipped, opening the book to a random page and raising it to hide her warm face.

"You're one to talk, Pidge," Lance retorted, reached over the book to ruffle her untidy hair.

Pidge smacked his hand away, suddenly uncomfortable with his casual affection. "Are you going to buy her flowers?" she asked him.

"I was thinking lillies," said Lance, sitting on the other side of the sofa where he could spread his limbs without disturbing her.

"Why not red roses?" Pidge wondered. The very beginning of the book and explicitly stated that  _red roses_  symbolized  _love_.

"Too expensive," Lance complained, "and lillies are still pretty. She'll appreciate them."

Pidge heard doubt in his voice but chose not to comment on it, instead asking, "And chocolates?"

Lance shrugged. "Those are for Valentine's Day," he said. "Pidge, I know you're not  _used_  to the 'antics of humans', as you call them, but trust me. I know what I'm doing."

She finally set her book aside, giving up. "Then why the hell am I here?" she demanded. Of him, or of her superior, who insisted she'd screwed up and had to fix it or the fate of the world would forever be thrown off course.

(Personally, Pidge didn't think  _the fate of the world_  depended that much on Allura falling in love with Lance, but it was above her pay grade to mention that. But to  _contemplate_  it...)

Pidge shook her head, dismissing her mutinous thoughts and reminding herself that her family's fate  _did_  depend on Allura falling in love with Lance. It was the price she was forced to pay for screwing up as badly as she did.

Then Pidge realized Lance was talking to her. "What?" she said, her eyes focusing on his concerned face.

"You okay, Pidge?" he wondered, poking her cheek. "You looked really out of it."

"I'm fi--" She pursed her lips, annoyed that she couldn't lie, just this once. Instead, she told Lance, "Don't worry about it. Did you ask me something?"

Pidge expected him to press her for answers, but instead he rolled his eyes and asked, "You really think Allura could like me?"

She sighed, staring at her hands and tightening her grip on her ankles. "Why wouldn't she?" Pidge said. "You're a catch."

When Lance grinned, the warmth in Pidge's chest conflicted with the heaviness of her heart.


	107. Pidge's Journal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunk reads Pidge's journal
> 
> Early canon, fluff(ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so a long time ago, on a computer not so far away, i lost a LOT of unsaved fic, including one of the very first plance fics i ever started writing that was basically a 5+1 on how all of Team Voltron eventually figured out Pidge had a crush on Lance and...this is the only part of it that was preserved. why?? ironically because i posted it on tumblr (it's based on a headcanon of mine). anyway thanks to that unhappy accident (which also resulted in me losing my original WIP version of what became "[scaled to size](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15174800)") this story (that predates season four) will sadly never be finished ;_;
> 
> ~~and yes Lance was the last to figure it out~~
> 
> but anyway have at what remains!!
> 
> originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/166961413123/rueitae-replied-to-your-post-besides-hunk-was)

When Hunk rifled through Pidge's things, he had not originally set out to discover personal information. Instead, he sought something  _useful_ , something that might get them out of Keith's tiny shack (it was crowded and he was starting to feel claustrophobic) or that might help Shiro in some way (not that Hunk knew  _what_  way, exactly), but then he spotted the photo tucked into a little journal. And Pidge spoke so little about his personal life that Hunk's curiosity was piqued.

Besides, Hunk was of the opinion that, if you did not have any blackmail-worthy material on a person, you were not truly friends.

The photo was innocuous enough at first glance, just Pidge in the Garrison uniform next to a girl in a pink dress. A girl that looked quite a bit like him. His sister, probably.

 _Cute,_  Hunk thought. Pidge should've mentioned he had a sister! It might have helped their team bond between flight simulations, since that was something that all three of them - Pidge, Hunk, and Lance - had in common, at least.

But in the background was a craft that Hunk had seen on news reels and in journal articles so many times in the last year.  _Huh. Pidge was at the_ Kerberos _launch? No wonder he's so obsessed with it._

Hunk shrugged to himself and started to leaf through the journal, shutting out his guilty voice by reasoning that he knew next to nothing about Pidge, his  _teammate_ , and deserved  _some_ information, at least.

On the first page a printout from an online news article about the  _Kerberos_ mission was taped. Including thumbnail photographs of the three Garrison personnel.

One of whom looked  _suspiciously_  like Pidge in that other photograph in his journal.

 _Matthew Holt,_  Hunk read underneath the thumbnail. He took out the photograph of Pidge and his sister and compared it to the picture of Matthew Holt in the journal.

And realized why Pidge was so cagey about his - no,  _her_  - history and why he - no,  _she_  - always challenged their instructors' claims of 'pilot error' causing the  _Kerberos_  mission failure.

 _What else is she hiding?_  Hunk wondered.

He flipped through the rest of the journal. Much like a lab notebook, it contained relevant information to Pidge's objective:  learning what  _really_  happened to the failed mission. All the readings she had taken from the roof, all the responses she'd gotten from instructors that let something or other slip, all documented in this little journal. Odd, Hunk thought, for someone so often glued to her computer.

(Though perhaps not so odd, considering how paranoid Pidge was. Of course she would want a written record in case she lost the digital one and couldn't recover it. Or even, she only recorded things by hand so no one would hack  _her_.)

Surprisingly, there was other, more  _typical of a diary_  facets too. Hunk paused when he came across his name and observations she made on him.

_Friendly enough. Always has something to eat and doesn't mind sharing. Helpful with homework, a good engineer and teammate. More reasonable than Lance but less forceful. And more respectful of boundaries._

Hunk snorted. If only Pidge could see him now.

Following that was a note on Lance that made Hunk chuckle:

_Too friendly to the point of annoying. Suspicious? Thinks I'm obsessed with Kerberos mission. Which...I am. Would probably be a decent pilot if he'd stop messing around in the simulator. Smart but easily distracted, usually by a girl. Imagine the irony if he knew I'm a girl._

Next to that was a short phrase so vigorously crossed out that it strained Hunk's eyes to make it out:

_~~and he's cute~~ _

Hunk almost choked as he read that. Pidge thought Lance was cute? And was embarrassed enough by it that she felt the need to blot it out in her personal, presumably private, for-her-eyes-only diary? Could she possibly have a  _crush_  on him?

 _No way,_  Hunk thought, smiling.  _There's no way._


	108. Straightforward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pidge seeks crush advice from Lance
> 
> Canon-verse, fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by [this post](http://justpidgance.tumblr.com/post/167035673100/what-if-pidge-asked-lance-for-advice-on-how-to-get) (though not exactly faithful to it)
> 
> an oldie but a goody originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/167041253178/what-if-pidge-asked-lance-for-advice-on-how-to-get)

Lance thought that after two years in space fighting furry purple aliens while flying a sentient robot lion that merged with four  _other_  sentient robot lions to form one large robot  _man_  nothing could possibly surprise him. And yet here he stood in the kitchen, making himself a milk-flavored milkshake (there were no strawberry or chocolate substitutes in space) while Pidge came to him with her…dilemma.

“You want my help with what now?” he said, gaping at her.

(Nothing that came out of her mouth had shocked him so much as when she admitted she was a girl, until now.)

Pidge rubbed the back of her head and smiled sheepishly. “I wanted some advice about…a guy.”

Lance decided it was time to move past shock and into acceptance. Pidge wanted advice, about a guy, so he would give some to her. What else were friends for? “Why?” he asked. “Did he steal your stuff? Make you cry? Was it  _Keith_?” He sipped agitatedly from his milkshake, barely tasting it but still wary of getting a brain freeze.

“What?” Pidge said, blinking at him. “No! I mean,  _yes_  he stole my stuff, but that has nothing to do with it.”

He set the milkshake aside. “So…?”

Her cheeks turned as red as a sunburn, lips twitching up into a tentative smile. “How do I tell a guy that I like him?” she wondered.

Lance’s mind ground to a halt, that  _shock_  returning to him. “What?” he said, voice thick with disbelief.

“It’s just that,” Pidge said, waving her hands as a distant expression fell over her face, “I’m not as good with people as you are, and you have more experience with this sort of thing than I do - even if you’re almost always unsuccessful–”

“Hey!” Lance recovered enough to interrupt indignantly, but Pidge ignored him and plowed on.

“–and I’ve had a crush on him for  _years_  now, so I just need to get it out because as far as I can tell when I know for  _sure_  he doesn’t feel the same I can…” She finally paused, taking a deep breath, and continued a little more quietly, “I can move on with my life and not let him distract me anymore.” She didn’t look at Lance, her attention fixed on her hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

“Oh…‘kay.” At a loss for words (for once), Lance rested a hand on Pidge’s shoulder. “That was a lot to take in,” he said.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said, shrugging. “I, uh, ramble when I’m nervous.” She offered him a smile, but it fell quickly.

“I can help you,” Lance said. Quiznak, he hated seeing her so miserable and hesitant; when he found out which  _guy_  had her all out of sorts, he would kick his ass (unless it was Shiro, because that would definitely be impossible and also frightening). Besides, how could any guy with a heart  _not_  fall for smart, beautiful, clever, excitable, kickass Pidge?

“So how do I tell him?” Pidge asked, jerking Lance from his thoughts.

Lance, realizing he’d zoned out thinking about Pidge, focused his eyes on her. “Well, it probably depends on the guy.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Who is it anyway? Hunk?” He wouldn’t mind if it was Hunk, since he was sweet and almost as smart as her, but he was still hung up on Shay, which wouldn’t bode well for Pidge.

“What?” Pidge said, frowning. “No.”

“Shiro?” Lance leaned towards her, smiling teasingly. “I wouldn’t blame you if it was, but just so you know, I  _think_  you have a fair bit of competition.”

“Uh,  _ew_ , definitely not.”

Which only left… “Oh, it’s Keith, isn’t it?” An old, too-familiar heat reared its head, and Lance’s mood plummeted.  _I thought I was over this._

Pidge rolled her eyes. “Please,” she said. “Look, just…tell me what to do! It doesn’t matter who he is.”

Lance smiled, relieved, and leaned against the counter in an effort to appear nonchalant. Why should he care who Pidge liked anyway?

“Well, since I can’t give you tailored advice–”

Pidge snorted and muttered, “I thought you called yourself the  _Tailor_.”

“Not me!” Lance retorted. “My classmates at flight school.”

Pidge leaned against the counter beside him. “I still dispute that, but carry on.”

He huffed but continued, “I would say just go for it. Just tell him you like him, that’s all. Don’t hesitate, don’t be vague, just–”

“I like you.”

“Yeah!” Lance said with a grin. “Just like that!”

Pidge narrowed her eyes at him. “No, Lance, I like you.”

“You already said that. Pidge, you’re doing great!”

Pidge smacked a hand to her face. “Lance, you are not hearing me,” she said, sounding incredibly frustrated. With a sigh, she tore her hand away and grabbed him by the jacket. “Lance, I like  _you_.”

Her words finally registered, and his mind fell silent while his heart skipped a beat. Lance was proving to be  _very_  easy to shock today. “You…what?”

“Do you get it  _now_ , you quiznaking–” Pidge cut herself off, letting go of him. “How do you list almost everyone aboard the Castle short of yourself and then have the nerve to be  _surprised_?” Her fists flew to her ponytail, tugging.

“Wait wait, why the quiznak do you like  _me_?” Lance demanded, pointing to Pidge then pressing his finger to his chest in turn.

“Because you’re funny and you make stupid puns and you go out of your way to keep everyone motivated and you’re actually  _smart_  sometimes–”

“I resent that.”

“–and you’re cute but I don’t care about that much anyway but I’m logical enough to concede it’s probably a factor and I like it when you smile and hate it when you’re upset and I don’t know what to do and–”

“Pidge.”

“ _What_ , Lance?” She glared at him.

Heart pounding and face hot, he suddenly felt more shy than he’d ever felt in front of one of his best friends. “I think I…might like you too.”

Pidge’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened. “Oh.” Her jaws clicked shut audibly, and then she said, “Okay.”

They stood across from each other for what felt like doboshes but was probably only a few tics, drops of condensation trailing down the glass of Lance’s forgotten milkshake.

“Now what?” Pidge asked. “I…didn’t think it would get this far.”

Lance stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and smiled tentatively at her. “You want to…try dating? Maybe?”

Pidge snorted, covering her mouth with her hand; she seemed just as shocked by this turn of events as he was, though she appeared to be coping better. “It’s not like we have time,” she said.

“Eh.” Lance shrugged, leaning towards her, and to his relief she leaned into him, her head falling onto his shoulder. “We don’t really need to do anything more than play video games and, I don’t know, hold hands and stuff.”  _And kiss,_  he added to himself.

And he really wanted to, he realized as he glanced sideways at her.

“Okay,” Pidge said, nodding, her hair brushing his chin with the motion. “Sounds good.” She straightened and stood across from him, holding out her hand.

Lance stared at it. “What?”

“Oh for the love of–” Pidge grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand from his pocket, and laced her fingers through his. “It’s like I have to do everything!”

Lance smirked, reaching up with his other hand to ruffle her hair. “Yes, Pidge,” he agreed, “prove your love to me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she said, face red as she averted her eyes from him. “At least, not yet.”

“Okay, sure, but what do you want to do for our first  _date_?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Pidge hummed thoughtfully, then smiled. “Make me a milkshake.”

Lance stared down at her, and, deciding she didn’t have to be the only one to take initiative in their relationship, he leaned down and kissed her cheek. He laughed when she squeaked, and said, “Sure, anything for you, Pidge.”


	109. Neighbors to Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: AU where they're neighbors/childhood friends
> 
> Canon divergence, fluff/angst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted [here](https://sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/post/181073470223/oh-if-youre-still-doing-the-au-thing-neighbors)

“Who the heck is Pidge Gunderson?”

Predictably Hunk shrugs, as baffled as Lance is…though likely not as disappointed. He  _hoped_  his comm specialist would be any of the last five girls he had a crush on, and yet—

“Right here.”

The familiar voice squeezes his chest and makes it difficult to breathe for a second, but when he recovers -  _no way, it can_ _’t be her_  - he spins on his heel to face his and Hunk’s new teammate.

But the round face and petite frame are unmistakable despite the uneven haircut and glasses. Lance doesn’t know who Pidge Gunderson is, but it’s not the  _girl_  standing before him.

_Katie Holt._

* * *

Lance lay on his side glaring at the Garrison recruitment poster tacked to his wall, well-aware that he was sulking but unwilling to do anything about it. He  _deserved_  to sulk after Commander Iverson released their class ranking and classification. Dreams shattered, hopes dashed, his future as a hero and prodigious heartthrob flushed down the toilet and piped all the way to the bottom of the Marianas Trench for the moray eels to make snacks of…

 _Score: 82.15_  
Ranking: #11  
Pilot Class: Cargo

The kicker was that his score was a  _fraction_  of a point lower than the lowest ranked  _fighter_  pilot.

 _“Think of it this way!”_ Veronica had said in that peppy voice she took on when he  _sulked_.  _“You’re top of the_ cargo _class!_ _”_

 _“Big whoop,”_  Lance had grumbled.  _“Cargo pilots don’t go on exploration missions like to Kerberos…”_

No, missions like  _that_  would be reserved for Keith and James and all the rest at the top of his year, while he’d be stuck at the bottom of a barrel delivering instant meals to colonies on the moon.

A sharp knock sounded from the door.

“What do you want?” Lance called without turning around. “I’m doing  _homework_!”

The door’s hinges creaked. “That’s a lie.”

He bolted upright, his heart, heavy with disappointment, lightening when Katie peeked around the door. “Katie! What’re you doing here?” Lance wondered.

She walked in, shutting the door behind her (which his mother wouldn’t be too happy about for some reason…it was just  _Katie_ , their  _neighbor_  and his friend since forever) and perching on his desk chair. “I heard from Veronica that you didn’t make fighter class,” she said, scuffing her bare feet against the carpet. “I’m sorry; I know how much you wanted it.”

Lance sat up and waved a hand. “It’s not a big deal,” he said without meeting her eyes. “I mean, at least I made  _something_ , right? And if someone in fighter class washes out I’ll be the first one in line to replace them!”

Katie raised an eyebrow at him, the slightest smirk perking up her lips. “You know that almost  _never_  happens, right?”

He slumped, heart weighed down all over again, and admitted, “Right, well, a guy can hope!  _Or_  you can make it, shoot through the ranks, and change the rules so that the top  _eleven_  make fighter class?” He winked at her, oddly pleased when a hint of pink colored her cheeks.

But she rolled his eyes and retorted, “It doesn’t really work that way, Lance, and by then it’ll be too late for you.”

“I know, I know.” Lance leaned back against his headboard, hands behind his head and ankles folded in front of him. “You  _could_  just keep some other sorry rank eleven pilot cadet from suffering this same grave injustice.”

Katie snorted. “You’re so dramatic, Lance.” The bed sank underneath him as she sat beside him and pulled her feet up. “I can tell you’re upset though.”

“Who? Me? Upset that I didn’t get the thing I wanted most in the whole dang universe? Obviously not!”

Katie shot him a flat, unimpressed frown. “At least you still get to fly,” she pointed out. “You did reasonably well in flight school, so it’s not like you’ll lack for missions later, even if they’re not glamourous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Lance mumbled. He covered his face with his arm. “Your dad and brother are on the mission of a  _century_.”

“Neither of them is a pilot,” Katie pointed out.

“I’m not a multi-talented genius like you,” he said, peeking at her from under his arm. “You can easily get in as a comm specialist or an engineer without finishing school. You can probably get in as a pilot too if you did flight school first!”

Katie shifted in place, looking suddenly uncomfortable judging by how she glanced away, and Lance decided to drop the topic.

“What about you? Going to join me at the Garrison soon?” He grinned, quirking a teasing eyebrow. “Sure, you have to get through at least two years of high school first, but that’s exciting too, right?”

Katie stuck her tongue out and said, “Please, if I have to suffer more than two years of incompetent teachers and mean classmates I’ll steal a rocket from the Garrison and launch myself to Kerberos without a helmet.”

Lance laughed, but when Katie didn’t join in his eyes widened. “That bad?”

She shrugged but rested her chin on her knees, staring at the same spot on his wall that preoccupied him before she arrived. “It’s not a big deal,” she said. “I know there’s an end to it, so I can live with it for now.”

“Don’t worry,” Lance said. He sat up and slid forward, feet touching the floor, to rest a hand on her shoulder. “The Garrison’s better.”

“Easy for you to say,” Katie said. “You make friends easily and aren’t super smart—”

“I resent that!” he squawked, hand springing to his chest in offense.

“—so you fit in.” She smiled apologetically and added, “Sorry, I meant that as an observation, not an insult.”

“I know.” A grin pushed at his lips, and he flicked a strand of her long hair that fell into her face, unsecured by her ponytail. “But lots of people are super smart at the Garrison, so you’ll fit right in!”

 _Probably better than me,_ he thought with a twinge in his gut. Everyone at the Garrison was just so  _spectacular_ …

“Speaking of super smart people,” Lance said, “you heard anything from your dad and brother lately?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and added, “I know you talk to them behind the Garrison’s back…”

Katie’s eyes widened in surprise. She grabbed the front of his shirt, shocking  _him_  into yelping and his heart - did her face have to be so  _close_? - into racing, and said, “No one’s supposed to know about that!”

Lance raised his hands and stuttered, “Sorry! You’re just not careful around me!”

Katie frowned but let him go. “Don’t tell anyone,” she said.

“Hey, your secret is safe with me,” Lance promised. He straightened his shirt and sighed in relief. “So…is that a yes?”

Katie beamed, the expression radiant and warming him. “Actually, they’re only a few days away from Kerberos…”

* * *

“Pidge” avoids Lance just like Katie did after the mission failure, but unlike that time, when her red-eyed mother answered the door with an apology or the pebbles he lobbed at her bedroom window went unacknowledged, the truth of it stares him in the face.

So he chooses to confront her.

When she opens the door to her dorm, he sticks his foot in the gap before she can slam it back in his face.

“Ow,” he hisses, the shock of it shooting through his foot and forcing a wince from him.

“What do you want?” Katie - Pidge? Isn’t that the nickname her brother gave her? - demands. “I’m busy.”

He refuses to budge, despite his stomach doing somersaults and his heart pounding an uneven rhythm against his ribs. “I need to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you outside of class,” she retorts tartly.

His chest tightens, but he scowls and insists, “You’ve avoided me for the last few months,  _Pidge_ , so I think I at least deserve an explanation.”

Her eyes widen - no longer hidden behind those big lenses - while a flicker of shame crosses her face before she sighs and opens the door. “Fine,” she says, waving him in. “Let’s make this quick; I have work to do.”

“Work?” Lance snorts, accepting her reluctant invitation. “It’s the second day of the semester!”

“I have more important stuff to do than classwork, Lance,” she grumbles.

Before he can ask what she means, she slams the door shut with enough force to rattle the window.

Clothes and books and manuals litter her floor, a sharp contrast from her relatively tidy childhood bedroom, but despite the fact that she seems to have made herself quite at home, nothing gives away anything… _personal_. No stuffed animals propped against a pillow on the bed, no photos of her family pinned to the wall or sitting in frames on her cluttered desk, no stickers or posters or comic books lining the little free space on the shelves….

The sight of it makes his chest ache with something like regret.

She - really, what  _should_  Lance call her? - stands in the middle of the almost hidden floor with her arms crossed and her glower fixed at some point past him. “So what do you want?”

“To talk,” he says, the adrenaline that sustained him up to this point fading as  _hurt_  took over. “Why did you  _ghost_  me, Katie?”

“Don’t call me that here,” she snaps, a hint of fear crossing her face so quickly he might’ve imagined it.

So that answers one question…

“All right,  _Pidge_ ,” Lance says through gritted teeth, “why haven’t I seen you in  _months_?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Busy getting into the Garrison under a fake name?” He mirrors her pose, adding an eyebrow raised in skepticism. “You’d get accepted here as yourself with your eyes closed.”

“I’m not here for  _academic_  reasons,”  _Pidge_  says. “I’m here for—look, it doesn’t matter to you! I’ll be out of your hair soon enough anyway.”

And as much as it pained Lance when she ignored him every time he tried - and  _failed_  - to visit her after her father and brother were declared dead, as much as it  _hurt_  for her to attempt to blow him off now, he  _really_  didn’t like the sound of that.

A frown pulls at his lips. “What do you mean?” he wonders.

“I’m…trying to switch to a different team,” she admits. And she even has the audacity to look  _abashed_ , her eyebrows drawn together and her fingers wringing the hem of her uniform jacket.

But her admission doesn’t hurt like it should, not when his chest burns with anger and he snaps, “I don’t know what you’re up to - and I sure hope you’ll tell me! - but I would  _never_  expose you when you’re obviously in disguise.” He rolls his eyes, scowling at the floor, and mutters, “I covered for you with Hunk already. He  _sensed_  something odd when I ‘met’ you.”

Of course he had, when the sight of Pidge and her big brown eyes made his breath catch and his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and left him  _speechless_.

Really, all his primary school teachers that bemoaned how  _talkative_  he was in class should’ve employed Pidge disguised as a boy if they wanted him to keep quiet.

“He did?” Pidge’s jaw drops. “A-and it’s not that I think you’ll report me,” she continues after clearing her throat. “It’s that…I can’t risk being exposed from something so trivial as I’m too  _friendly_  towards someone I just met. Your sister would catch on in a—”

“I’m sorry,” Lance interrupts, rolling his eyes, “but that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. And look, I  _know_  you’re not used to making friends”—he doesn’t miss her grimace at the reminder—”but  _lots_  of people are really friendly with people they just met, so don’t give me that excuse.”

“I—” Pidge sighs, gaze drifting down to the floor between them. “I just…I don’t know.”

Lance, suddenly exhausted with all this including the months of her avoiding him, drops onto her bed. “Why are you going to all this trouble anyway? Your dad works - I mean,  _worked_  - here, so can’t you just…waltz in if you wanted?”

Pidge shakes her head and confesses, “I got banned from the premises.”

His head snaps up in shock. “Wait, what?”

She sits heavily beside him. “If I tell you…”

“You’ll have to kill me?” Lance suggests when she trails off, staring into space.

She smiles fleetingly, but he counts it a victory anyway. “No, but you can’t tell anyone else.”

He draws an X over his chest and says, “Cross my heart. As long as I don’t have to die for this secret…”

“You can’t even tell Hunk,” Pidge insists with a glare.

He raises his hands. “I’m already way ahead of you in that…but it’ll get harder,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

Her eyes flit from his face to the floor and back again. “It wasn’t pilot error,” she almost whispers.

He leans closer, unsure he heard her right. “What?”

A familiar ferocity enters her eyes, sending a shiver up his spine, as she says, “The pilot didn’t crash and my father and brother aren’t dead. Something  _took_  them.”

Lance gapes at her. “Are you…really? How do you know?”

“Classified Garrison footage I wasn’t supposed to find,” she tells him shortly. “They’re lying about what happened.”

“W-what could’ve taken them?” he wonders while dread ties his stomach into knots. But he forces a laugh and feebly jokes, “N-not aliens, right?” When Pidge doesn’t reply, his jaw drops. “Pidge, what did you see?”

“I saw enough to know there’s more to what the Garrison said publicly,” she pronounces, “but I’m here to find out as much as I can.”

“And do what?” Lance asks. “Expose the Garrison’s lie?”

“Maybe,” she says, frowning. “It…depends on what I find.”

“But, Pidge—”

And before he can wonder what she plans to do  _next_ , she cuts in, “I’m sorry, Lance.”

At this rate, he’ll have a premature heart attack thanks to all the  _shocks_  she’s dealt him.

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have shut you out like that.” She pulls her feet onto the bed and hugs her knees. “I just didn’t know what to do after the mission failure, so I threw myself into investigating that rather than wasting time on other things.”

“Aw, thanks, Pidge,” he says, rolling his eyes despite the disappointment weighing his heart down anew. “I’m glad that’s what I am to you.”

Her cheeks darken, and she waves her hand frantically to backtrack, “N-no, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“Oh, really?” He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You mean I  _wasn_ _’t_  trying to waste your time?”

“Th-that’s not it at all, Lance,” she says. She rests her forehead against her knees so he can’t see her face. “It’s just…it was too tempting to use  _your_  connection and I didn’t want you to get caught up in this mess after you applied for the spot that opened up in fighter class so I kept it to myself.”

Lance frowns, convinced that, for all the truth in the statement, she hides something else, but he can’t help quipping, “How thoughtful of you, Pidge.”

But then—

“Wait, how did you know about the spot that opened up?” he wonders, instantly suspicious. “That happened a while after you started avoiding me.”

Pidge’s shoulders stiffen. “I don’t remember,” she says. “I might’ve come across it while I was hacking into the Garrison’s systems and assumed you’d try for it.”

Lance doesn’t call her out on her obvious lie, not when relief fills him that her  _silence_  is finally at an end and…well, maybe they can’t resume their friendship as it was before the mission failure, but they won’t have to start from scratch.

“How can I help?”

Pidge’s head whips around, her eyes bulging in befuddlement. “What?”

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance despite his heart pounding and the voice in his head that reminds him he’s already on thin ice in the Garrison’s eyes, and waves a hand. “You know, with your…investigation.”

“Um…” She blinks once, twice, three times before saying, “Pretend like we didn’t know each other before.”

His heart plummets anew at that. “Why?”

“I already explained,” she says. She jumps to her feet and faces him, arms thrown out and eyes fixed on the ceiling. “It’s bad enough  _you_  recognized me, so what if someone else does too?”

“But—” he tries to protest, but Pidge plows right through him.

“There’s…nothing you can help with, Lance,” she says with a heavy exhale.

“But I’m your friend!” He stands, flailing his arms and gesturing around her messy room. “I can at least watch your back while you do your sneaky spy stuff!”

“I…maybe,” she concedes grudgingly, “but right now the best lead I’ve got requires I be as inconspicuous as possible.”

“D-does this mean you’re still switching teams?” His breath sticks in his throat painfully at the thought that they can repair their friendship only for it to fracture moments later.

He grew up with Pidge; she’s as dear to him as…well, not a sister, exactly, but the last few months without her - undoubtedly while she  _hurt_  and stewed over her father’s and brother’s not-deaths alone except for her mother - left him almost listless with how much he missed her.

Pidge’s brown eyes bore into his as she says, “No, I guess that’s not necessary.” A slight smile finds its way onto her face, reassuring and  _warming_  Lance as much as her words. “Knowing one of my teammates is reason enough to stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I still sometimes take prompts on my [fic/voltron sideblog](sp4c3-0ddity.tumblr.com/) if you're interested


End file.
